The 175th Hunger Games
by Wisteria22
Summary: "The Seventh Quarter Quell, to remind the rebels, that no matter how hard they fought and ran, they cannot find shelter even in the most remote places, it will be located in the ruins of old District Thirteen!" Once more, the Capitol rules over the Thirteen Districts, leaving the Hunger Games to take place again... Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Also, this is not a SYOT
1. District One Reaping

_Cashmere Combe (15), District One Female-POV_

By the time I've dragged myself out of bed, everyone else in the house is already wake. Scrambling, screeching, and praising are easily heard through my wooden door, no doubt caused by my sisters. Despite the fact that only two of them are eligible for the Reaping today, all of them are tearing through drawers in search of the perfect dress. Thankfully, I picked out my ensemble the other day, that way I wouldn't have to face their teasing. Still, I needed to eat, so I braced myself for the mayhem and walked out of my room, hurrying my way into the kitchen.

As usual, my mother is doting over Emerald, as this is her last year in the Reaping. Unlike me, her hair is brown, hanging straightly and almost seeming endless. Emerald's green eyes contrast with mine, even looking dull in comparison, though I knew it was hard to compete, since mine were a gold color, a rarity in my family. Pearl, Diamond, and Sapphire all have crystal blue eyes, while Ruby's is the same color of her twin, Emerald's. The five of them were considered to be quite pretty, and my mother believed that they would make perfect Victors for the Hunger Games. I only really trained once, so my parents never paid me much mind, though it doesn't bother me. After all, my brother Copper, his hair the same color as the beautiful material he was named after, and crystal blue eyes, thinks of me as his favorite sister.

Slipping into my seat, I nibbled on a small muffin, thankful of my father's income. From what I'd seen, some unfortunate people in Panem were starving; while we were fairly well off in my family. The blueberry flavor tasted only slightly artificial, helping me to ignoring the teasing from Diamond, whom was no doubt jealous that she couldn't participate in the Hunger Games. Smiling a bit at her, I reached for my glass of juice, only to have it snatched away from me.

"You're going to get your hair all sticky!" Pearl scolded, bored with nothing to do since Ruby's hair was immaculate as always.

"Thanks…," I replied, "I'll be fine though, so give it back?"

Shaking her head, Pearl's soft blonde hair swayed back in forth. The boys in District One loved her, and the men certainly did as well. As sisters go in my family, I suppose they're all right, but I couldn't help but find them a tad bit annoying at times. Still, I loved them; after all, you can't choose who your family is. Staring pointedly at Pearl, she sighed and gave in, handing me back my orange juice with a grumbled apology. Delicately sipping it, Copper trudged down the stairs, blinking his sleep eyes.

"Is it Reaping day already, Mere?" Copper asked, yawning slightly.

"Been so for about eight hours," I responded, giggling slightly at my brother.

Grinning a bit, he hopped into the chair next to me, taking a muffin from the platter. Reaching up, I ruffled Copper's hair, giggling again as it became even worse then it's formally extremely messy state. My brother never really was one of mornings, so he's been counting down to the end of his final year of school. Emerald looked distastefully at him, as if daring him to try to volunteer on _her _year. Copper winked at her, causing her petite features to turn a cross shade of red, much to his amusement. Chuckling slightly, I knew I'd never see the day that Copper finally stopped messing with Emerald, and that she wouldn't be bothered by it.

Pearl then waltzed over to me, frowning slightly as she looked at my empty juice glass. Gazing at me, I felt a bit nervous, wondering what she was doing. My sister then shrugged, patted my shoulder and motioned towards the upstairs. Her hair was already up, diamond earrings decorating her dainty little ears, so Pearl must have finished getting ready. And out of all of my sisters, she was definitely the most fashion obsessed, and wouldn't be satisfied unless she dressed me myself.

I didn't mind all too much, following her up the stairs until we reached her room. Walking inside, I saw a series of dresses laid out on the bed, each paired with jewelry and a pair of shoes. While each one was beautiful and would look wonderful, I'm sure; there was only really one that caught my eye. I grabbed it, holding it up in front of the mirror, Pearl's crystal eyes glancing at me.

"That should work, Cashie!" she squealed, a minor teasing edge to her voice.

Playfully rolling my eyes at my sister, I changed into the dress, examining it. Just the way I liked it, the dress was black, one of the best colors ever, and covered in feathers. Gold feathers, if I may add, that seemed to be the exact same color of my eyes. I couldn't help but wonder why Pearl had ever purchased this, since it wouldn't look nearly as good on her, the coloring off. Pushing the thoughts out of mind, I ran my fingers down the sides, smiling when I reached the end of the fabric around mid-calve. Yes, this dress would do quite nicely.

"And this for good luck," Pearl added, twisting my hair into a complicated up-do, keeping it in place with a sparkly golden hair tie, which upon closer inspection was covered with shiny white pearls.

It had been Pearl's birthday present a few years back, and I hugged my sister. Even if she teased me frequently, she obviously did in fact care for me. The other four I wasn't all too sure about, and Copper was guaranteed practically to. Pearl hugged back, a little awkwardly since she would scream if her nails were chipped, and then assisted me into putting on the six inch black heels she had selected. My calves were a bit sore after walking around in them, yet I offered no complaint, and walked downstairs.

Mother looked over at me, nodded in approval, and then went back to Emerald. The latter of which was insisting that her stick straight hair was just too curly, causing Copper to go into the corner, very close to having a laughing fit. Pearl simply shook her hair, and went over to our sister, braiding back her brown hair. By the time she was done, Emerald began to squirm, desperate to go to the Reaping, of which she was convinced everyone would soon know her name.

"Come on, Emmy," Sapphire purred, "I'll take you and Ruby."

Smirking slightly, the three skipped out of the house, heading to the Reaping without us. Mother mumbled something to Pearl about getting herself presentable, meaning that we'd need to leave now or end up arriving after the Reaping was already over. Mother was rather particular, something that I noted Father grimacing slightly at. He must have wanted to see his "baby girl" volunteer for the Hunger Games. President Gremlin promised this year to be an exciting one, and he certainly wouldn't want to miss it at all.

Copper grabbed my hand and pulled me out the front door, Pearl hot on his heels.

_Griffin Holloway (17), District One Male-POV_

I wake up suddenly, a bouncing pressure ramming itself over and over again against my stomach. Groaning, I blink my eyes open wearily, trying to find a clock, only succeeding in seeing a blurry image. Focusing in, the reality of the situation becomes apparent, and I gently take my little sister off of me. Beaming up at me, little Alura didn't even grasp the idea of the Hunger Games, yet she knew how important today was to me. This year's going to be my year, this fact already decided months prior to the Reaping. And if it somehow wasn't so, there's always next year.

"Ti-Ti!" Alura squealed, her front two teeth missing, "Granny-pa says you gotta hurry or we'll be late!"

Chuckling slightly, I shook my head slightly at her, "Then you best get ready too, Ally,"

Alura's dark hair fell in ringlets, her hazel eyes the same color as mine, but their shape was far larger. Giggling, Alura noted her acceptance and ran out of my room, past what used to be Dragon's, and skidding to a halt outside of her own. Watching her go inside, I couldn't help but wonder what my little sister would end up like years later. I hoped that she'd be intelligent, since if you have the brain power, you can think your way out of just about any situation. Alura still thought of me as her father, and our dad as her, "Granny-pa," so I wasn't all too sure about that. In all fairness, Mother did die when she was only one year old, and I was fifteen. Alura never even got to meet Dragon, my older brother by eight years, whom now resided in a grave. I, on the other hand, had no intention of following his footsteps.

Hanging up on the closet was my Reaping outfit, the same one that my father had worn before me. Adorned with jewels, it shimmered slightly, making myself look dazzling and confident. This time, no one would dare to Volunteer before I did, and if they did, I'd make sure they quickly forgot any silly notions. For my whole life, I've been training as much as possible, and I would have dropped out of school if they'd let me. No one else deserved to win the Hunger Games more than I did.

Pulling on the outfit, I glanced in the mirror and grinned cockily. Yes, this would do quite nicely, I thought as I walked out of my room. Alura sat on the stairs, dressed in a slightly oversized puffy blue dress, which I knew she'd grow into by the time she was twelve years old. I could just picture her, laughing slightly as she rolled her shoulders, climbing up to the stage, striking a pose for the people of Panem. Shaking my head, I scolded myself for the distraction and went downstairs into the kitchen.

Dad sat down at the table, scratching at his stubble, only grunting slightly at me as I walked inside. Giving him a curt nod, I gave him the same treatment, though I do love him, he never just really noticed me. Since I was little, the affection had always been spent on Dragon, no matter how hard I'd try. After he passed away in the Games, Mom and Dad took more notice of me, informing that I should enter when I'm eighteen years of age, in peak physical condition. Ignoring this, modifying Mom's dying wish; I tried to enter the Hunger Games frequently. Waltzing over to the cabinet, I pulled out a protein bar, downing it quickly as Alura burst into the kitchen.

"We got's five minutes!" she cried, placing her hand dramatically on her hip.

Dad and I each looked at her, used to her antics. Always trying to be grown up, Alura had declared herself the woman of the house and demanded lots of shiny things. It could have been a common rock, idly thrown on the ground, yet she'd treasure it dearly. Faking an accent, it would have been considered adorable or highly annoying. To me, it was just simply irritating.

"Thank you, Alura," Dad spoke after a pause, "I think we'll make it in time though."

Huffing slightly, Alura strutted over to Dad and bent over, whispering something in his ear. Turning red, he stuttered something unintelligible and hastily excused himself. Striking her forehead, Alura groaned, then turning to face me, as if she intended to deal with me next. Cocking an eyebrow, I reached slowly into the cabinet behind me, purposefully messing with her head. Her eyes narrowed, and I downed another bar, finally feeling the familiar full feeling in my stomach. Shrugging lightly, I walked out of the room, knowing I'd need a clear head if I intended to win this thing.

Taking a few deep breaths, I leaned against the speckled white wall. I must have been the smartest person in District One, in all of Panem for that matter. Keeping that in mind, I rethought through my strategy, focusing on being able to win sponsors and attain membership in the Career Pack. District One is traditionally in it, and in fact, we were actually the ones that began in way back in the very first Hunger Games. The name of the Victor escaped me, and I clenched my fist slightly, angered at myself for that. After a couple minutes, I released my grip, resolved that it really was of no importance. My mind must be kept clear and void of any disturbances, or I may lose my chance now, and have to wait yet another year. Confidence surged through me, as usual of course, as I knew that my training had been top-notch and anymore time certainly wouldn't make a difference.

Walking out of the house, where Dad and Alura stood waiting, I tipped my head slightly at them. Understanding the silent signal, each of them began to walk towards the Reaping with me. Alura started up a meaningless conversation, the only bit I caught was that her and her friend Stelle loved to play Hunger Games at school. Grinning slightly, I continued to listen, until it was obvious that the game wasn't nearly as intense as I remembered it being. And so for the rest of the walk, I tuned out their conversation, going back through the mental prep work I'd need to complete before heading into the arena.

Upon arrival, the familiar process of DNA confirmation ensued, leaving a miniature wound on my finger. By the time I stood among the other seventeen year olds, the bleeding had already ceased, and a small scab had formed. Tia, the bubbly Capitol woman, stood up at the stage with the remaining Victors of District One and the Mayor. A stupidly happy grin on her face, I found myself scowling at her, deeming her unworthy of my time and attention. Even more so, the video they showed, identical to the same each year, seemed as if designed to prolong the Reaping. By the time Tia finally shuffled her way over to the glass bowl, filled with the names of thousands of District One females, a couple of the boys around me had dazed expressions, half asleep.

"Miss Cashmere Combe!" Tia chirped, looking around expectantly for the female Tribute.

A pretty girl, her dark hair pinned up and her odd golden eyes looking mysterious walked up to the stage. Smiling, Cashmere faced the crowd of District One, ignoring the several protests of the others. Looking as pleased as could be, she announced that she didn't want any Volunteers for her, and swept her eyes over the crowd. Her eyes paused, seeming a bit surprised at something, yet then her grin broadened and I thought nothing more of it. Winking into the crowd, the other boys started cheering, someone even crying out her name, and I knew she'd have no trouble at all getting sponsors.

Tia next went other to the second glass bowl, "And now for the male Tribute!" she squealed, the pitch in her voice going up more than usual at the end of her sentence.

Clenching my hands, I watched, feeling slightly pained as she drew out of the process of picking the Tribute. I just wanted to volunteer already; no one could then try to take it away from me, since this was my year. This would be the year that I, Griffin Holloway, won the one hundred seventy fifth annual Hunger Games, in honor of my parents!

"Luster Fillows!" Tia calls out.

A timid looking boy steps forward, probably not having trained for the Hunger Games more than once in his life. That's the required amount here, since it usually helped us sort out the Careers from the Cheerleaders, so to speak. I had been a natural talent, no surprise there, and had been granted the privilege of frequent training sessions. While this may have been illegal, the Capitol didn't have any intention of stopping the Career Districts anytime soon, since we added that zest to their Hunger Games.

"I volunteer!" I call out, walking up to the stage proudly, "I volunteer as Tribute!"

My excitement rose, seeing as no one else tried to volunteer. Good, it really was my year then, I thought as I took my rightful place upon the stage. Looking down upon everyone else in the District, I felt like I could sprout wings and soar, flying high above the puny little specks known as people. That feeling wouldn't help me win, and I gruffly pushed it aside, analyzing my opponent.

Cashmere, I recalled, was only two years younger than me, and looked as if she was sweetly natured. Despite this, an aura of confidence and competition radiated off it, and I smirked slightly, knowing that she may very well be a worthy ally. A couple of the boys talked about her, comparing her to her older sisters, so the Combe name was known quite well.

"And what might your name be?" Tia inquired, jerking me from my analysis of Cashmere.

Turning to her, my eyes looking stormy, I answered, "Griffin Holloway," and just like my parents had intended, my name would strike fear into the hearts of the twenty five others for sure.

_Cashmere Combe (15), District One Female-POV_

Our escort, a teetering woman with vibrant pink hair hobbles onto the stage. Her heels must have been even higher than my own, adding a good ten inches to her otherwise short stature. She looked slightly like an oddly colored bird, trying to walk on its tippy-toes without looking silly. Sadly, she didn't manage to accomplish that feat, a couple of the younger children snickering at the odd Capitol woman.

Soon, a clip was played, first about the time period over one hundred years ago called the Dark Days. It went over the basics, about how the Thirteen Districts wrongly rebelled against the Capitol, and we were defeated easily. And so, they created the Hunger Games, something which we called a contest of glory here in District One. Yet seventy five years afterwards, we entered the Mockinjay period, which most of us never speak of, since the punishment is severe. Everyone knew what happened next; President Gremlin destroyed the Mockinjay, and returned Panem to its former glory, reinstating the Hunger Games. I practically knew the entire speech by heart, and I felt rather glad when it finally ended.

"And now," the escort sang, "let's see which beautiful young woman will have the great honor of representing District One!"

Walking over to the glass bowl, which shone in the bright light, she reached her perfectly manicured nails inside. Smiling slightly, she mixed the slips around, trying to make sure that it would be completely random. After a short period of time, the escort erected her back, holding up the tiny piece of white paper as she read into the microphone.

"Miss Cashmere Combe!"

I smiled politely towards the cameras, walking calmly up the stage. Feeling utter elation, I didn't even mind looking at Emerald; her eye's burning a hole into my back. Upon standing next to the escort, she embraced me in a warm and caring hug, which I felt obligated to return. Since this was a Career District, it was expected that people would try to volunteer for me, and at least five of them did. One of which, I noticed was my sister Emerald, and another, I believed was Ruby.

"No volunteers please," I requested, showing off my competitive edge.

Both of my eligible sisters faces were stony, enraged by my words. I simply grinned brightly out at the crowd, winking into the camera to attract sponsors. There, I'll be able to win this no problem, and it didn't matter at all what Emerald or Ruby thought.

"Yeah! Go Cashmere!" Copper cheered, getting his large group of friends to join in.

Once they had calmed down, I made sure to keep a winning look on my face. The escort hobbled over to the other glass bowl. Grinning out at the crowd, she fumbled with the slips, someone in the crowd shouting at her to hurry up. Frowning out, Tia, which I recalled as the escort's name, made her way over to the microphone.

"Luster Fillows!" Tia read, her voice extremely clear as a trembling twelve year old came forward.

Before little Luster could even make it to the stage, a boy from the seventeen year old section volunteered. His black hair was cropped, most likely to keep it out of his eyes while he's training, and made it easy to see his excited hazel eyes. I recognized him slightly, remembering as he tried in vain to volunteer for the Hunger Games on several occasions. A bejeweled suit covered his tall and muscular body, an easy smirk on his face as he halted next to me on the stage.

"And what might your name be?" Tia piped, smiling brightly at him.

"Griffin Holloway," he replied coolly.

Tia nodded, happy with this year's Tributes, "Shake hands, you two!"

We shook hands, his grip a bit crushing, and then promptly let go. Everyone stood cheering for us, and I knew that'd I'd be this year's winner. After all, I have this secret talent of mine, which I believe will be immensely useful when I go into the arena. And with the guarantee of being in the Careers, there's almost no way I can't win.

After about five minutes, I find myself sitting in the elegantly room. Located within District One's justice building, it's even more extravagant than the richest homes I'd ever seen. Satin rugs, silk curtains, and about a million pillows surround me, beckoning for me to kick back and relax. No one had come in yet, so the danger of being teased for being lazy would be exceptionally low. Smiling slightly, I laid down on the couch, feeling the exquisite fabric it was constructed of. Closing my eyes, it was incredibly easy to imagine myself floating on a cloud, if it wasn't for an abrupt squealing.

"Cashmere!" my sisters chorused, with the exception of the twins.

Opening my eyes, I smiled up at them, searching for Copper. He stood off to the side, grinning slightly at me before prodding Emerald, whom scowled up at him. Mother and father weren't there, most likely because of the limit of visitors at a time. Still, I didn't really mind all too much, as I'd be fine if only Copper came. He always said that I'm his favorite sister, and I have to admit, he's got to be my favorite family member.

"You're going to be a great Victor," Copper promised.

"Thanks," I replied, grinning widely at him.

Emerald scoffed once more, muttering something under her breath before leaving the room. Ruby glanced at me, gave a slight half wave, and then ran out after her. Those two always went together, even if I sometimes wondered why Ruby doted over her twin so often. I never really asked though, finding that question rude and thoughtless. Pearl pranced over directly afterwards, wrapping her arms around me in a hug.

"You'll look so gorgeous in all of those brand new Capitol clothes, little one!" she told me, affection evident through her playful tone.

Giggling slightly, I hugged my sister back, not bothered in the slightest when my siblings were my only visitors.

_Griffin Holloway (17), District One Male-POV_

Alura spun around the room, shrieking with delight as she stumbled, the high heels too much for her, and she fell upon the cushy floor. Dad merely laughed at his little princess, obliging her request to be picked up and slung her over his shoulder. In other rooms like these, Tributes would be shedding tears, mumbling goodbyes and apologizing for any wrongs they had done. But in this room, in my room, the atmosphere was one of contended success. Alura was positive that her, "Daddy," would be able to conquer the Hunger Games with ease, and Dad seemed to share the same opinion as her.

"Hmm…You've been training well, Griffin," Dad commented, "your mother would be very proud."

Smiling slightly, I nodded at Dad, being the more strong and silent type. While I've been accused of being arrogant, it's mainly by those of lesser intelligence, which in my opinion explains the whole matter effectively. As soon as I won the Hunger Games, I'd be honoring, partially, my mother's last wish, and each of my parents. I'd then train Alura, and hopefully, we'd have another Victor in the family. Once this happened, no one would be able to forget the Holloways, and our names would inspire fear to leach into their minds.

"Ti-Ti!" Alura cried, springing skillfully from Dad's shoulders to hang around my neck.

I caught her with ease, adjusting her into a place the benefited each of us. Alura wrapped her tiny arms around me, blowing into my ear in an attempt to get my attention. Knowing this game quite well, I tuned her out, picturing myself in the arena. Sometimes, it looked like a dark coal mine, then shifting into a vast ocean, before ending in an endless field of smoldering ashes. Just because the arena would be in Old District Thirteen, that didn't mean they wouldn't construct something for us to, "play," in while we were there. If I hadn't been training for this moment before I had even learned the alphabet, I might have been scared. Instead, I smirked slightly, gently tossing my sister off of my shoulder as the Peacekeeper came in. Upon leaving, I waved slightly at them, and went back to my thoughts. Everything came up as being an advantage to me, or a disadvantage to someone else, to my immense pleasure.

Oh yes, the odds certainly were in my favor.


	2. District Two Reaping

_Leah Dagger (16), District Two Female-POV_

Just like that night, lightning crackles through the air, yet the form on the floor lays motionless. The angle of her neck looked so awkward, and I remembered thinking that this couldn't be happening. Slowly shifting from my spot upon the floor, my hand reached out hesitantly, only to discover that the warmth had long since left her. He didn't seem to be coming near anytime soon, I realized, and I scrambled desperately towards her. Reaching my hands up to the inflicted area, bruises that were half way formed were present, and the bone sickly out of place. My heart ached immensely, a river of tears sliding down my cheeks, as I clutched my mother's body. Sneering, he came back in, whacking me with a stick and jolting me from my nightmare.

Sweat drenched my tan body, turning my auburn hair oily. No doubt, my green eyes would be peppered with fright, large just like some of my opponents have been. My pulse slowly lessened, returning to a normal resting heart rate in under a minute. Taking deep breaths, I forced myself to look around the room, and remember that what I had seen happened a long time ago. Right now, it couldn't hurt me as long as a stayed strong. Which I reminded myself meant not hiding under the covers when I should be getting ready for the Reaping!

Growling slightly, I shove myself out of bed and head to the bathroom. Matt and Thomas aren't up yet, which I smirk slightly to myself about, the latter being the one I actually wanted to avoid. I hated each moment of my existence spent in Thomas' company, and why wouldn't I? Without Thomas, my mother would still be alive, and I wouldn't have to continually lie to my little brother each waking hour. Matt may have just been the only person I felt close to, and that came with a price; a deep and active fear of losing him as well. And ever since my mother had been murdered, no one else received a spot in my heart.

Turning the shower knob, I spent the five minute wait for water to come out by punching the air. My punches were fast, almost too fast, I thought with a grin. Yet despite this, I knew they wouldn't do much good, merely fazing and annoying my opponent, since strength isn't a key asset of mine. Neither was swimming, I thought icily, stepping into the shower. Instantly, my entire body was briefly doused with hot water, which quickly grew cold. Cleansing myself, I shut off the water, in an attempt to save the heat whenever it would be possible. District Two is better off than the other Districts, yet we're still not nearly as nice as the Capitol. Though, I bet the houses in Victors Village aren't all too shabby; I'll be finding out soon enough.

Grabbing the faded and worn towel, I dried myself off as quickly as possible, dashing back into my bedroom. Scattered among my things rested an old hairbrush, matted with auburn hair from years upon years of use. Primarily, it was this day that it actually had importance, since on other days I found it simpler to sweep my hair up into a loose yet effective ponytail. Groaning slightly, I ran it through my hair, grumbling as it caught on each and every tangle possible. Despite my efforts to not wince, the pain became too much and I did so, mumbling a few choice words under my breath. Hopefully no one would be armed with a hairbrush in the arena, and if they did, I'd like to stay far, far away from them. Eventually, my wild and thick auburn hair became tamed, falling down nicely just below my shoulders.

From the depths of my closet, I procured a fitted green shirt. The shade matched my eye color, which I knew from lectures at Training School seemed more appealing to potential sponsors. Some of the students their found it odd at first that we'd be taught this, but it made sense after watching years of the Hunger Games. A large part of winning was the appeal, and the more appealing you looked, it would clearly gain you more support. After all, even the interviews didn't let them learn all too much about you. Pairing the shirt with a skirt, the reflection in the mirror boasted confidence and poise, just what I'd need. Even the bruises and scars seemed minimal, and I found myself wishing that Thomas, my father by blood, would be that way as well.

Someone knocked softly at my door, and opened it after a moment's pause. Towheaded, the young boy had an eye color identical to mine, yet his hair matched the color of our mother. Matt's eyes seemed to shine up at me, bringing out one of my rare smiles that were few and seldom in between. He broke into a grin as well, running over, dressed in dress clothes that were two big for him at eight years of age. By the time he was entering his first Reaping, they should fit fine, I thought, and if they didn't, I'd be able to afford to pay for new ones. Hugging his small body, I reluctantly scooped him up and walked out of the door.

The stench of alcohol was prominent, though that was usual from Thomas, most likely where his abusive behavior had sprouted from. Gritting my teeth slightly, I forced myself to keep walking towards the exit of our one story home. Thomas' bedroom door stood ajar, the sounds of wheezing and shifting quite audible, Matt and I each were being very quiet. There would be nothing better than the Peacekeepers coming to haul Thomas from our home before the Reaping, I thought initially. Glancing down at Matt, I decided I'd rather that didn't happen, in case he'd choose to add another kill to his list. A few seconds past, my feet began to walk once more, each of us only daring to breathe as the squeaky door closed behind us.

"Leah…," Matt ventured, looking up at me curiously, "Why are you going to volunteer?"

Gazing down at him, my fists clenched slightly, thinking of my mother's death. I couldn't let anything happen to Matt like that; he was my only true family that I had left. The only way I could protect him from Thomas would be to win. As a Victor, I'd get to live in my own house, and choose who'd get to come with. Not to mention that the Capitol would ensure your protection, taking high notice of you. All of these perks had been drilled into my head since I was younger than Matt, and now, at sixteen years of age, I knew I was ready.

_Jackson Leo Ross (17), District One Male-POV_

Each kick I threw was aimed to kill, right down to the very last detail. The equipment the training area of our mansion never lasts all too long, I being the main culprit. It never really would be likely for Mariah to compete in the Hunger Games, since she's planning to take over our mother's shop. Her shop was quite popular, if I may add, and ensured that I was quite fashionably dressed at each and every Reaping Day. In the entire country of Panem, my family is one of the more fortunate, and as wealthy as some of the Capitol citizens. We probably should have been living in the Capitol at this rate, yet my parents never even brought up the matter.

Throwing a round kick from an aerial, I hit the ground with a thud. I never really mastered that way, something which I reminded myself from each time I tried it. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the little white towel and wiped my face clean of all the sweat, leaving my skin a slightly irritated red. Taking in a deep breath, I guzzled down some water, jogging a bit to the bathroom. Earlier, about five or six hours before the Reaping, I stashed my outfit for the day in here. There was no way I wanted to chance Mariah taking with her to work, and then sell it to someone who's outfit ripped at the last minute. Or worse, my mother trying to practice sewing on it, scattering little pink hearts across the fabric, which only a girl could truly enjoy.

Slipping on the clothing, I strutted around in front of the mirror, smirking slightly at the reflection. My copper colored hair popped out above my pale skin, looking fluffy yet neat enough so it would be excusable. Tall and strong, many of the sponsors would no doubt look at me and smile, knowing they picked a winner. Yet my favorite thing about myself was my eyes; a brown color, they were tinted red, just enough to be different but not enough to cause alarm. No one else in my family had eyes like these, a tiny victory against the long list of things my father has accomplished. Black dress pants, a brand new white shirt, and shiny white shoes feel odd to wear, though confidence oozes off me in large waves.

Suddenly, someone began to pound on the door, the rhythm being precise and accurate. Shaking my head slightly, I exited the bathroom and went over to the oak door. Only one person could be so desperate to get in here right now, as this happened just about each and every year. In fact, that was the very reason I locked the door in the first place, as a way to get some more privacy. Eventually, a small growling noise could be heard, so I reluctantly opened the door. Stepping backwards, I flashed a trademarked smile, yet it didn't ever seem to work on Mariah; she was my sister, after all.

"What in the world are you doing?" Mariah seethed.

"Training. How about you?" I replied with a grin.

Mariah rolled her gray eyes, stalking closer to me. We each had the same hair color, though Mariah kept her hair extremely short, shorter than mine in fact. Her build was muscular, accentuated by the sea green dress she had selected from the Reaping Day. Thinking a bit, I remembered seeing it for sale in our mother's store just the other day. Another common trait between us was our height, towering over most of the people in District Two. Together, we'd be ideal Victors, and each of us knew it, especially from all the compliments the trainers would give us. Still, Mariah didn't even seem to want to participate in the Hunger Games, at least not yet. Maybe she'd do it when she was seventeen or eighteen, to ensure that she's had the most training possible.

"Breathing," Mariah commented, "you ought to try it sometime. And you know where would be the perfect place to do it…? The Reaping that we're going to be late for if you don't get your lazy butt out the door!"

My sister always loved to tease me this way. Her confidence, like mine, came from our successful father. Both of us came off of arrogant this way, but it didn't really bother me, or Mariah, in the slightest. Our father always thought that he was the best at everything, and to some point, he very well may have been. While he was always proud of us, James Ross always had already done it, so it didn't seem as fulfilling. That's the actual reason as to why I'm going to Volunteer for the Hunger Games this year, aside from all the fame and glory that would undoubtedly come from winning it. At fifty one years of age, Dad couldn't enter anymore, and he certainly wasn't a past Victor. Logically, if I trained and won the Games, then I'd have finally beat Dad at something. The very thought of it had me puffing out my chest slightly, smirking more with an erect back.

Rolling my eyes, I retorted, "You've said this just about each year, 'Riah. And have we ever been late…?"

Mariah huffed, her eyes looking stormy as she glared at me. Turning her high heeled wearing foot, she marched out the door. Upon exiting, my sister slammed it with all her might, cursing my name to high heaven as she left. A slight niggling sense of hurt lingered for a bit, but vanished as quickly as a soft summer breeze, only there for a mere second. I had no intention at all of admitting that Mariah was right, my hands clenching into fists at the very thought. Pride mattered a lot to me, along with honor and courage, though it was still the first. And besides, Mariah would always come back running to me, as she didn't have quite a lot of friends. Her best friend, a boy named Grell, died in last year's Hunger Games; he was weak anyways, not nearly as strong as me.

Pushing on the door, I smiled slightly as a little dent had appeared. Mariah must have been training, I decided, to have been able to impale the door so many times. She stood waiting for me in the hall, running her hands through her short spiky hair, no doubt trying to make herself look better. Mariah always looked fine to me, so I didn't quite understand why she was all worried about nothing.

"Come on," I smiled, "We better hurry, right?"

Nodding, she pulled on my hand, tugging me off to the Reaping. The walk didn't take very much time at all, mainly spent in silence except for the occasional odd comment. Dad and Mom would come join as later at the Reaping, since they preferred to be 'surprised' by who would be Volunteering for the Hunger Games this year. We weren't dumb; this was just a way to let us bicker without them being there. Oddly enough, Mariah and I parted on a pleasant note, each of us getting into the line for the DNA confirmation.

"This won't hurt at all, laddy," A Capitol woman droned, pricking my finger and pressing it down harshly on her piece of paper, "Next."

Eyes narrowing slightly, I wiped the blood off of my finger, slipping into place among the other seventeen year old boys. Just about each one of us stood strong and proud, only a couple potential Tributes quivering in their boots. Grasping the shoulder of a thin looking boy, I gave him a comforting squeeze, whispering into his ear my plans. Beaming up at me, he muttered thanks, abruptly snapping his head to attention as the escort came onto the stage. A beefy man, standing taller than everyone else, his skin almost as dark as coal, had a dominating presence. Instantly, the whole District fell into silence, waiting for the quite famous escort to begin.

"Welcome, citizens of District Two, to this fine Reaping Day," he began, soon launching into the well repeated speech.

They really didn't need to bother with this thing each year. Quite frankly, they didn't even need to do it in the very first place, since they recite it about each week in school. Looking towards the twelve year old section, I can see a couple of them mouthing the words, their knuckles white with fear. In other Districts, it would have been considered normal for them to be scared, as not many people tended to want to compete in the Hunger Games there. Our twelve year olds should have known better, I thought critically, only ceasing my ponderings when the escort pulled out the name of the female Tribute.

"Mariah Ross," he read clearly, letting the name hang in the air as he glanced around for the girl.

My expression hardened slightly, looking over towards my sister. Boldly, Mariah marched up to the stage, intent on making it there before anyone could Volunteer for her. Usually, if someone Volunteers in District Two, the Reaped person has to back down, unless they're already on the stage. It helps sort out the strong from the weak, ensuring that we'll bring home yet another Victor. Though, the odds weren't in Mariah's favor, as a girl steps from the sixteen year old section and Volunteers. Leah Dagger, I recognized from the auburn hair and the rather pretty features. Every now and then we'd train together, yet she always seemed to remain aloof, even as we were throwing knives at the same exact target. Though, I thought with a small grin, she always did spare a chuckle when mine inevitably missed.

Staring proudly off into the crowd, Leah informed the escort of her name. Her last name was typical and common of District Two, so not too many eyebrows were raised. In fact, no one but the escort seemed to be mildly amused, now walking over to the other glass Reaping bowl. Tensing my entire body, I knew that I couldn't miss my chance to enter the Hunger Games. I didn't even bother to look over at Mariah, who no doubt was muttering every foul word she knew under her breath. This year, I had to win the Hunger Games, as a way of finally besting my unbeatable father; a way of doing the impossible, therefore making it possible.

"Felix Steins," the escort called out, scanning the crowd once more for the Tribute.

Someone near me muttered under their breath, taking shaky steps towards the stage. I recognized it as the boy from before, the one whom I had told my plans to Volunteer for. Felix Steins should be thanking his lucky stars that he's a proud citizen hailing from District Two, yet he didn't seem to be doing that. Glancing at him again, Felix had almost reached the stairs and I knew it was time; no one else seemed to be Volunteering this year.

"I Volunteer as Tribute!" I cried out, my voice echoing slightly.

Felix almost cheered, scrambling back to the protection of our section as fast as he could. Coward, I thought, he couldn't even give himself more dignity by walking. Whatever, it wouldn't matter that much when I came back as Victor. Dad certainly would never be able to do that, and I felt his eyes upon me as I walked up to the stage, standing proudly besides Leah. The escort walked over to the two of us, the small white slips of paper fallen out of his hand already. Sizing me up, he seemed to give a nod of approval, gaining a smirk from myself.

"And what might your name be?" he asked in his deep and powerful voice.

"Jackson Leo Ross," I replied, smirking, "I'll be your Victor this year."

_Leah Dagger (16), District Two Female-POV_

The intro to the Reaping bores me to death, as always. Every now and then, I'd look over to where the rest of the District waited, scanning the rows for Matt's tiny form. The older he got, this became a bit easier to do, and in moments I had found him a couple rows back. Matt sneezed, no doubt from his allergies, and I returned my attention back to our escort. His name was Thunder, something which suited him no matter how corny it was. Everyone knew that if Thunder had came from a District, he would have won the Hunger Games with ease, so it was no wonder that he had been assigned to work with District Two just about every year.

Thankfully, my impatient nature wasn't all too bothered. Thunder finished up his little spiel quicker than any other year, soon walking gracefully over to the glass Reaping bowls. As customary, he drew the name for the girl Tribute first, looking at the little white piece of paper. Really, it didn't matter at all whose name was on their, as I'd be the one going into the Hunger Games this year. There was no way I'd let Matt live another year with Thomas, who'd no doubt start to abuse him as well. Tapping my hand against my leg, I soon became a bit irritated with Thunder again, watching him walk over to the microphone slowly.

"Mariah Ross," Thunder called out, prompting a girl with short spiky hair to come out from the fifteen year old section, clearly looking like a punk.

Smirking slightly, I watched her hurry to make it into the stage, though I knew she wouldn't make it. Strategically, I had placed myself on the outer edge of my section, that way I could Volunteer before it would be all too late. Doing so, it felt like an out of body experience, listening to myself bellow out the words I had only dreamed of saying. Mariah looked angry, snarling a bit as I swaggered up onto the stage, flicking my long hair over my shoulder. Searching the crowd, my eyes soon locked onto Matt's, whose were beaming with joy. Smirking out, I gazed proudly out at District Two, only bothering to listen to Thunder's question of my name.

"Leah Dagger," I told him, directing my attention to the cameras, my eyes glinting as if I knew something that no one else did.

"Good luck then, Miss Dagger," Thunder replied, winking a bit as he walked back over to the Reaping bowls.

Grinning slightly, I watched as a weak looking boy began to make his way to the stage. He'd never make it into the Careers, especially when he looked as if he would burst into tears at any moment. Mentally, I had already written him off, leaving myself with only twenty four opponents in the arena. Yet then, to my dismay, a tough looking boy just had to Volunteer for him! Hatred grew in me, and part of me wanted to kill him myself, despite that action being frowned upon in the Districts. Sponsors were all I really cared about right now, so I masked my disgust, making myself look bold and undaunted at each angle possible.

He seemed familiar to me, though I wasn't all too sure why he did. Copper colored hair dominated his pale complexion, glinting softly in the sunlight, and no doubt making the Capitol women weak at the knees. I suppose he looked nice, given the fact that his eyes were an odd and unusual color. Curiously as well, he bore a slight resemblance to Mariah Ross, the angered girl whom I Volunteered for. Well, I didn't actually Volunteer for her, and looking out at her in the crowd, I couldn't help but snicker. She looked as if someone had just crushed all her dreams and danced on the ashes; laughing again, I realized that only later would I be dancing.

Thunder looked at the boy upon reaching the stage, "And what might your name be?"

Gazing arrogantly at our escort, it was only then that I was able to place the name behind the face. That boy was none other than Jackson Leo Ross, a total jerk and prick if I do say so. It was unfathomable how some people actually enjoyed his company, and even found him likable at times. Jackson was simply terrible at any weapon that required aiming, or more likely, required preciseness. His father and mother were both well off, no doubt leading him to think that he was just as superb at them. Ha! I'd trained with him several times, and each time, I had been the winner. Of course, we only really were paired up with throwing weapons, yet those always gave an advantage in the Hunger Games. While I'd be able to kill the strongest Tributes from a distance, he'd have to further the risk on his own life by going up close.

"Jackson Leo Ross," Jackson stated, confirming my thoughts, "I'll be your Victor this year."

Growling a bit, I knew that I could not wait for him to die. At least, I smirked, I had been able to piss off his little sister, Mariah by Volunteering. Not even meaning to do it, I had already gotten a leg up on my opponent, keeping this in mind as we grasped hands. Even though it was customary, I couldn't even wait to be led off to our rooms. The Peacekeepers felt no need to push and prod us, merely forming a protective barrier from any possible angry citizens. Once again, it simply wasn't necessary, as the people of District Two recognized a winning pair when they saw it.

Plucking at the strands on the pillow, I sat throughout the hour alone. Matt would come here eventually, I thought, as long as Thomas didn't have anything to say about it. My little brother knew all about what really happened, with the exception of the night that our mother had died. Thomas had forced me to lie to the authorities and support his claim that our mother had simply slipped. His excuse never really seemed to ring true to me, as there wasn't actually anything in sight that could have broken her neck like that. Another reason I hated my father, another reason I Volunteered, and another reason that I simply couldn't let anyone else in, or out, of my aching heart.

Matt didn't come to see me off, I thought sadly. Thomas musn't have let him, always saying that I've been a disappointment to him. Digging my fingernails into my skin, biting my lip, I felt savage and wild. Thomas shouldn't have any right in what my brother may or may not do. Thomas never really was a father towards either of us, a lesson that I'd be right to teach him as soon as I could. But right now, I'd have to just take a deep breath, and prepare for the murders I'd been soon to commit. Closing my eyes, I smirked slightly to the empty room, and waited for the Peacekeepers to bring me to the doom of twenty five others.

_Jackson Leo Ross (17), District One Male-POV_

My entire family sat with me in the tastefully decorated room. My mother looked like an older version of Mariah, with the same exact hair cut, only hers was the color of the purest snow. With the same exact eye colors, each of them was quite fearsome when angered. Dad, however, looked plain and ordinary in each way, something that worked deceptively in his favor. I couldn't help but wonder how much more proud of me he'd been when I returned in a couple weeks.

"I can't believe that….that…," Mariah added a particularly bad curse, "Volunteered for me! Do I look like I need to be Volunteered for…?"

She crossed her arms, huffing as she glared at just about anyone in her path. Chuckling at her, I felt a slight need to remind her that she'd be facing me in the arena. A warning look from our mother silenced the thought instantly, not wanting to bare her wrath at this moment. Next, my mother nudged Dad towards Mariah, letting him be the one to try and calm her. Biting back a smirk, I might have been the only one to notice the slightly wary look in his eyes, though it soon vanished.

"Mariah Ross…You will always make me proud," Dad spoke, "But right now, you should be glad you would not have to face your brother in the arena. It would simply not do for someone as pretty and innocent as you."

Cocking an eyebrow, I wondered exactly what Dad was thinking. Mariah seemed taken aback for a second, then let out another long string of curses and stormed out from the room. Mom seemed crestfallen, looking at each of us, whispering a quick goodbye, and ran out after her moody daughter. This meant it was just the two of us left in the room, and each of us knew that our time was running out. Looking over at Dad, my impatience rose as I began to feel expectant of him to say something. Five minutes, or ten minutes, or even twenty minutes might have passed before Dad cleared his throat, ready to speak.

"You can do better, Jackson," Dad scolded, sweeping out of the room with all the grace he possessed.

Typical.


	3. District Three Reaping

**Yes, these are out of order, but I thought you'd like a chapter better than no chapter. **

_Malaya Finaca (15), District Three Female-POV_

Creeping silently through my house, I made sure that no one else was awake. My older brother's snores are steady and calm; I smile slightly to myself as I lay my hand on the doorknob. None of them will notice my absence for at least a couple hours, when they're all preparing for the Reaping. It doesn't matter to me all that much how I look, my matted hair the color of rained on dust, and my skin a darker color from days spent out in the wheat fields. People never really thought of me as pretty, and I must agree with them, my green eyes always looking startled.

Slipping outside, I feel as if I'm alone in my District, the only other sound is the soft rustling leaves, stirred by the gentle breeze. The silence welcomes me as I walk, headed down a road that not many choose to travel. It takes about thirty minutes, but soon the sight of twelve extravagant houses greeted me, designed to look formidable and treasured. Despite the fact that many of the people here were toddlers during the Mockinjay period, the elderly occupants of Victors Village were abuzz with activity.

As I walked down the lane, the oldest Victor, a wrinkled old woman waved at me, smiling. Nodding politely, I smiled back at her, watching as she vanished mysteriously back inside of her home. No one really knew how old she was, since the Capitol's life sustaining operations had been applied to many of our Victors here. Even though they read the list of each Victor we ever had at all the Reapings, her name always seemed to elude my grasp. I'd make sure to pay extra close attention today, and perhaps I'll actually remember it this time.

Finally, I got to the very last house in the row, a little vase of flowers sitting on the outside. Knocking, the door seemed to be pulled instantly open, revealing Granny. A sweet natured woman, she always loved to see me, and her father had been a Victor. Great-Grandfather was quite old, and sadly, he wasn't expected to live much longer, without yet another Capitol operation. I honestly hoped he'd pull through, since I found that they were a great way to get advice. Without them, I might have hated my family.

Right, I should probably explain that. My family may have been in District Three, yet I swear they could act as posh as the people living in District One at times. All of them were quite beautiful, attractive in just about every way, as they reminded me way too often. Though it wasn't my fault that I wasn't anywhere near pretty, they'd beaten me over it, leaving bruises that ran up and down my tanned body. I couldn't ever forgive them for it, even though I knew I loved them. Because of them, I'd been driven out of my own home, and I wanted to prove to them that beauty didn't matter.

"Hello, sweetie," Granny said with a smile, ushering me into the beautiful house.

Gramps came down from upstairs, carrying Great-Grandfather's black metal suitcase. As a Victor, he'd been required to Mentor Tributes, or if someone else did it for him, he'd at least have to travel to the Capitol. Gramps grinned, his teeth bucked from a refusal to use the Capitol's dentistry products. It never really made any sense to me, yet it made Gramp's happy, so I figured it was all right.

"Hey there, Mala girl!" Gramps said, his voice gruff and his skin covered in wrinkles, "You here to see Pop?"

"Hello Gramps," I smiled slightly, and then nodded.

Granny had disappeared into the kitchen, no doubt whipping up a quick snack or too. I didn't intend on taking it, waving slightly as I climbed the stairs. The rug covering the upstairs hallway was a rich, plush red color, standing out against the mahogany wood. Sometimes, I wished that my family lived with Great-Grandfather too, but there simply wasn't enough room for all of us. The walls were lined with portraits, most of which were taken in the Capitol and featured Great-Grandfather. Nearest to the final door, which I knew lead to his room, was a black and white drawing of Granny, Gramps, and my dad. I always felt a bit odd, looking at Dad as a little kid.

Knocking softly on the door, I called out quietly, "Great-Grandfather?"

Minutes later, a wheezing cough was barely audible. Biting my lip slightly, I wondered if I should have gone to the wheat field instead. Banging noises came next, most likely Great-Grandfather grabbing his cane, something which I knew Dad used to get when he was particularly naughty. It had given Dad ideas, which I thought sadly, feeling the achiness in my back. However, the pain was soon driven out of mind, tired green eyed identical to mine appearing in the doorway. I loved Great-Grandfather, even if he had a beard like Saint Nicholas, a bad hip, and a hunchback. His face was covered in wrinkles, making him seem friendly and warm.

"Here for advice then, eh?" Great-Grandfather asked with a chuckle.

Nodding again, I explained to Great-Grandfather my plans for later. The words came out as soon as I thought them, the travel of neurons from the brain almost instantaneous. I was tired of being told I was ugly, and even if I was, it doesn't mean I couldn't win the Hunger Games. Since I was little, I always felt a desire to become the next Victor in the family, following in Great-Grandfather's footsteps. So today, I decided that I'd volunteer as Tribute. With each minute, his eyebrow seemed to rise higher and higher, until I was almost positive it wasn't even humanly possible. By the end of the chat, he donned a grave expression and whispered into my ear. Grasping my hand, Great-Grandfather looked into my eyes, the same color as his, and pulled me into a tight hug.

"Good luck, Malaya," he whispered, letting go some time later, "I hope you won't need it."

I smiled at him, only feeling slightly guilty that I didn't tell him the whole story. There was another reason I'm planning to volunteer; I believed no one would care if I died.

_Jitz Low (14), District Three Male-POV_

I wake up late, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Groaning, I mentally think through the week, and realize what day it is. Reaping Day; the day that two people will be sent to an early and bloody death, and with absolutely no hope of survival. Most people avoided talking about it, or consoled themselves that they couldn't get picked, but then they always were. One of these days, our time is going to be up and we can't do anything about it. So why fight it? I didn't see any point to it, merely going through the motions to please my annoying happy mother. If I was ice, then she would be fire, which meant I was going to melt pretty soon. Once again, it wasn't like I cared at all; nothing really irked me that way anymore.

To avoid her screeching, which I must add I simply cannot stand; I forced myself out of bed. My entire room was black, inspiring the darkness to come in, since you simply just couldn't keep it out. Because of my attitude, most of the people at school avoided me, considering that I effectively darkened their mood. In my opinion, I was just being realistic, and if they didn't come to their senses, it wasn't at all my problem. They'd have to wake up and smell the roses, or they'd end up sleeping with the fishes.

Grasping my drawer handle, I yanked it open, a bit hard and plucked out my designated Reaping outfit from within. The blue polo shirt, which I detested, was the exact same one I had worn each and every year. Paired with ghastly black pants, it felt like a living nightmare to have to walk around in this. Mom insisted that it would only be for a few hours, yet I felt that any time spent in this was torture enough for one day. And not to mention that the black dress shoes pinched my toes, most likely killing off a couple nerves while they're at it. Still, I couldn't avoid this, tugging the shirt on over my head and pulling on the pants. My socks itched majorly, something else to add to the list of 'great things' on this 'great day' that's happened so far. By the time I laced up the rotten old shoes, I felt like an entire lifetime had passed, and there was no way I could stand to wear this ensemble for much more than an hour.

"Jitz, honey?" my mother called, her voice almost too sweet, "Are you going to have any breakfast?"

Emerging from the room, I quickly took in her short brown hair and bubbly blue eyes. Wearing a light blue dress, an aura of happiness came off of her. Mom always insisted on seeing the bright side of things, and she had even done so for the Reaping. Though I disagreed with her, insisting that it was the systematic and glorified slaughter of the Children of Panem, she wouldn't hear it. Naturally, my father just had to agree with her, despite him being generally thought of as gruff.

"It's not like a piece of toast will make a difference," I scoffed, "If anything, it'll make me more likely to spew my guts out, eliminating any chance of aid and bringing my death sentence even quicker."

Mom blinked slightly, the smile barely fading from her always cheerful face, "It's not likely that you'll get reaped, honey. Remember that, okay?"

Glaring slightly at her, I wondered why she even bothered. Each year, we had the same argument about the odds of being chosen. One time, I had even calculated the odds of the chosen person being chosen just to prove it to her, yet she said that just meant others had a better chance of being safe. I might as well have been talking to a brick wall, as my factually correct arguments did little to no good for my situation. Really, I shouldn't have even bothered with this in the first place, as I knew I'd be proven correct one of these days, and for all I knew, it may very well be today.

"Yeah, yeah…" I said, "I'll eat the stupid piece of toast..."

Making my way towards the kitchen, I jammed the piece of toast into my mouth. Mom followed me in, still grinning as I made a huge show of chomping on it. Dad looked up from the tattered old newspaper he read each morning, which I saw no point in as it was outdated by over one hundred years. It had Katniss Mellark's picture in it for crying out loud! Nobody even knew who she was anymore, and quite frankly, I didn't think anyone would really care if they did.

After ages of staring at the clock, the three of us finally walked to the Reaping. A Capital woman jabbed a needle into my finger, no doubt leaving another scar for my collection, and pressing the blood onto her sheet of paper. Confirming that I was indeed Jitz Low, she waved me onwards and I took my place in the fourteen year old males' pen. Almost instantly, the rest of the boys shied away from me, and I casted a gloomy look upon them. One of them would be sent off to the die soon, and I was probably the only one who knew that was exactly the way things were. I bet that the Tribute would be a sniveling little thing, guaranteed so called 'good odds' when in fact no such thing existed.

Our escort, a black wearing man named Morginth, spoke with a booming voice. Morginth didn't even need to use the microphone, it becoming a mere formality. The horrors, which I had labeled as fact, were described in what some called gruesome detail; it didn't bother me in the slightest. All I wanted was to be out of the awful clothing and be allowed to sulk in peace, no disturbances. Eventually, Morginth made his way over to the glass bowls, picking the girl Tribute first as always. I hated him for that, wishing that he'd get this over with already.

Morginth held up the white piece of paper, squinting slightly as he read the named, "Thet-"

"-I volunteer!" a girl shouted, her hair a murky brown color, "I, Malaya Finaca, volunteer as Tribute!"

The escort blinked slightly, obviously not used to getting volunteers from District Three. Honestly, I was surprised as well, that someone would actually want to die sooner rather than later. Or perhaps she had resigned to the fact that death will come, no matter what, much like I had. Not like I'd ever find out, since her dead body would be coming back here in under a week, if not less. Morginth and Malaya exchanged meaningless conversation, before he nodded slightly, leaving her to stand on the stage while he picked the male Tribute.

Reaching into the glass bowl, he pulled out the name of the soon to be dead, "Jitz Low!"

"I knew this would happen. I just have to be the one to die. I just had to be the one to be chosen, not any of the fresh meat," I muttered to myself, repeating it over and over again.

Scowling, no one volunteered for me, and I didn't expect anyone to. Slowly I made my way to the stage, not even bothering to look for my mother. The entire Districts eyes seemed to be upon me, as I made my way onto the stage. Malaya seemed to smile towards me, no doubt just trying to receive sponsors. When she died, I'd remember this very clearly, and when I died, I wouldn't care at all.

_Malaya Finaca (15), District Three Female-POV_

I arrived early at the Reaping, wearing the outfit that Granny had picked out for me. No matter what she had tried, my hair remained in its usual messy and distasteful state, leading her to give up after seven attempts. The green dress, a light color that reminded me of the dew covered grass, was a try to match my eye color. Even slightly off, it made it quite obvious and didn't add to my physical appeal at all. A dark brown belt had been placed around my hips, somehow giving off the illusion of curves that I knew I didn't really have. Before I left Great-Grandfather's, I looked into the mirror, satisfied that I appeared as my normal unglamorous self.

Our escort, a very intimidating man, went up on the stage and gave his speech. We watched a short clip, and by the time he walked over to the Reaping bowls, I realized I still didn't know that Old Victor's name. Frowning slightly at this, I resolved to pay extra close attention from now on, since I'd be fighting for my life. I'd thought it over carefully though, and Great-Grandfather gave me the go ahead, so nothing bad really could happen.

"We'll start off with the ladies," he said, reaching into the glass bowl, "Thet-"

Taking a deep breath, I bellowed at the words that no one in District Three has head in a long while, "-I volunteer! I, Malaya Finaca, volunteer as Tribute!"

Everyone turned and looked at me, the escort looking a bit shocked. My older brother, standing in the eighteen year old pen had a questionable look on his face, making it impossible to tell exactly how he felt about this. Locking my eyes with Great-Grandfather, his expression passive, I quietly walked up to the stage, climbing the steps until I approached the escort. Eying me up, he motioned for me to come closer and talked in hushed tones.

"This for real, girl?" the escort, Morginth, whispered.

Nodding, his eyes seemed to be full of pity and admiration, waving me to continue walking onto the stage. Analyzing the crowd, I knew that sponsors would be looking at me right now, already penalizing me for not being as pretty as the others. Well, I'd be living proof that you don't have to be beautiful to win the Hunger Games; it didn't matter at all. Though hopefully my District Partner would leave me be, since I'm a quiet person by nature, with only a single friend named Jordana.

Reaching into the other glass bowl, Morginth pulled out the name of the boy whose life would soon be transposed, "Jitz Low!"

From the fourteen year old section, Jitz stepped out, muttering something over and over again under his breath. While he was on the lean side, I didn't doubt that he'd make it past the first day, the slight muscles visible under his polo shirt. Shaggy blonde hair partially hid his blue eyes, which looked gloomy and sullen, as if he'd already given up on life. Smiling slightly at Jitz, I hoped to cheer him up, yet it was to none avail. After we shook hands, he walked while dragging his feet, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

Morginth and a team of Peacekeepers led us into the rooms we'd be allowed to say our goodbyes. Sitting down on the plush couch, I couldn't help but compare it to the one in Great-Grandfather's house, causing me to wonder who'd visit. Not expecting anyone to, I felt surprised as a familiar tear streaked brunette came crashing through the door.

"Wh-why'd you do it?" Jordana asked, her pale features looking sickly from the sadness.

Taken aback, I meekly told her the exact same thing I had told Great-Grandfather. Just like him, her expression turned grave, even if it pretty much already looked that way. While I was confident of my abilities to win the Games, my friend clearly viewed them as a death sentence. Almost too soon, a Peacekeeper walked in and told her that her time was up, Jordana's gray eyes staring sadly at me when she was forced from the room. Granny and Gramps were the next two to visit, surprising me as I thought they'd be aiding Great-Grandfather, yet they offered no explanation. All they did was hug me close, staring intently at me through the silence.

"I'll be fine," I promised, my voice a slight whisper.

"Sure you will, Mala," Granny echoed, a forced smile on her face, "Come back real soon, all right?"

Nodding to them, Gramps smoothed back my hair, and then promptly exited the room. My family didn't come to visit, leaving me heartbroken and happy at the same time. This emotion confused me, and I was rather glad when a Peacekeeper told me it was time to leave for the Capitol.

_Jitz Low (14), District Three Male-POV_

Sitting in the room, my mother and father burst in, almost too quickly for my liking. This room smelled damp and musty, no doubt of rotting carcasses in my opinion, and I quite frankly would like to dwell on my untimely death in solitude. Yet my parents surely wouldn't allow that, thinking that I needed them now more than ever, when it actually quite the opposite. In fact, this was their entire fault, because they had me in the first place, a tiny boy doomed from the very start. Surely they would have known this would happen fourteen years ago?

Mom sits down next to me, laying a hand on top of mine. Glaring slightly, I pull mine away, causing a frown to briefly grace her face. Ignoring it, I look over at my father, and see that he's sealed away as usual, simply staring into space. As unlikely as it was, maybe he actually understood how I felt, though he never did disagree with my mother, even on the most trivial matters. Dad's hair was the same exact shade as mine, too, something that Mom pointed out frequently, even if there wasn't anything useful to the little tidbit. I'd be dead soon anyways, so why would the color of my hair even matter?

"This isn't the end of the world, honey…," Mom says, "The Capitol isn't all too bad. Look on the bright side! You'll get to have all the food you'll ever want, see new people, make some friends, and get in some decent exercise!"

Groaning, Mom ignored my sounds of protest. For the rest of my allotted time, she tried, futilely, to convince me that it was actually a good thing that I was Reaped. By the end of all of it, I had a splitting headache, relieved as they removed her from the room. Right now, I just wanted to go get this over with; I knew I was going to die anyways. It didn't matter if they paraded me around in their ridiculous costumes or not.


	4. District Four Reaping

_Fialla Howards (14), District Four Female-POV_

Digging my toes into the sand, I feel myself fade away into the perfect daydream. Here, I'm not sitting alone on the beach, the sky painted pink and blue from the rising sun. Chiseled and strong, Nico holds me close, kissing my hair as much as possible. Utter bliss; that's the only emotion I feel now, the niggling feelings of chores left undone don't matter anymore. Looking into his sea green eyes, nothing could have made me happier than being here with him, right now. The metal back brace, usually annoying me slightly, gives me no grief right now, and upon closer inspection it's not even there. Brushing my forehead with his lips, Nico whispers the three words that I've always wanted to hear him say…

Sea spray douses my face, snapping me out of the perfect little world and into reality. Nico isn't here with me, no one is; my only company is the seagulls. Scrambling up, I am once again reminded of the troublesome back brace, always seeming to be in my way. When I was younger, Kallice and I were each training for the Hunger Games. To make a long story shirt, it didn't end all too well for me, resulting in the breaking of my back. People say that I was quite lucky; not many people survive these kinds of injuries unless they're Capitol citizens. I suppose I am, especially since I was born in District Four, home of one third of the fearsome Career pack.

Tucking a strand of curly chocolate brown hair behind my ear, I slowly walked towards my home. A little shack by the sea, nets surrounds the perimeter, most of them half way completed. I'd have to finish them soon; otherwise the rest of my family wouldn't be all too happy with me. After all, the six of us had to squeeze into that little house, and the only way we'd be able to pay the bills if we caught enough fish. That's what Father and Stuart did, my eight year old little brother only rarely being at home. Stuart spent most of his time off on the little sailing boat we owned, called _La Bucephalus_. It must have been a miracle that he did well in school, my Aunt Shorrie would always say.

Grasping the squeaky brass handle, the door yanked open with only a slight protest. Illuminated by candlelight, the small sleeping form of Stuart was revealed. Messy brown hair, he snuggled up to Kallice, who held him close with her lean and tan arms. The small ticking noise of a clock disturbed the subtle silence, alerting me to the fact that we'd have to get ready for the Reaping very soon. Biting my lip, blood soon began to flow, and I tried in vain to make it over to the wicker chair. Tripping over a stray book, I held my breath in, hoping that no one had been awoken. Stuart made little sleeping noises, turning over, cuddling into our sister again. He'd already be a good contender in the Hunger Games, even if he was only eight years old; most people in our District were like that. I, however, was extremely clumsy, so it wasn't very likely that I'd ever be in the Hunger Games.

Collapsing into the chair, it was only then that I made my fatal error. A tall and looming figure appeared out of the quite darkness, subtle breathing being the only thing to signify its arrival. Dropping a few inches in height, Aunt Shorrie's high heels appeared at my feet, then Aunt Shorrie herself sitting down next to me on a teetering pile. Her white blonde hair was skillfully arranged, looking like a high flying lady from the Capitol whom it was actually pleasant to look at. Out of my entire family, Shorrie was the eccentric one with the quirky ideas, and I found that I loved her for it. Contrasting to the rest of the brown and beige house, Aunt Shorrie wore jutting red lipstick, which she was able to pawn off of the Peacekeepers in exchange for services. She never really told us what kind of services, though I never had the nerve to ask her.

"Hey sweetie," Aunt Shorrie cooed, pulling me into a hug, "What's on your mind?"

Instantly, I thought back to my daydream of Nico. His sea green eyes seemed so intent, as if I was the only thing in the world, and the rest was completely lost to him. If a blind man ever saw the sun for the first time, that's the look I always pictured Nico wearing. Sadly, I doubted he ever noticed me, thinking me of more of a younger friend if anything. Sometimes, he'd flash a smile in the hallway at school, sending butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Nico made me feel truly alive; I loved it.

My cheeks burned crimson, and I picked at a loose thread, trying to avoid Aunt Shorrie's hazel eyes, "Oh…umm….nothing…J-Just thinking 'bout the Reaping later..."

A perfectly plucked eyebrow shut up, and I slouched a bit in my seat. People always did say that I was like an open book, easy to read, even from miles away. Each time I attempted to lessen my blush, the image my mind had carefully constructed of Nico would reappear. By the time Aunt Shorrie grinned knowingly at me, I must have been redder than a tomato. Though, I wasn't all too sure, as the only time I'd see that fruit is whenever we had a Victor. Alas, it had been a couple years since that particular event had occurred; District Two tends to hog the spotlight when it comes to winning the Hunger Games.

Aunt Shorrie scooted closer, leaning forward, "Doesn't sound like it, Fialla sweetie…You thinking 'bout a boy?"

Knowing my efforts would be futile to deny her, I merely nodded slightly, scanning around the cluttered room for my Reaping outfit. She should leave me alone if I told her I had to get dressed, a small if not nonexistent price to pay for my freedom from this conversation. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Aunt Shorrie put her soft hand on my wrist, and I bit my lip slightly. Lying on top of some burlap sacks sat my Reaping outfit. The only problem, naturally, was that it just happened to be on the completely opposite side of the room. If only I could have been a better liar, a better actress, and then I wouldn't have been in this situation in the very first place. Biting my lip again, I felt a trickle of blood in my mouth, which I hastily tried to stop by licking it with my tongue.

"You know, I liked a boy once two…," Aunt Shorrie said wistfully, "Name was Lazlo, and he ate like a pig! Broke my heart too, dying off on one of them ships…Show's still got to go on though, and that's just what I did…"

She had told me this story numerous times, yet this time, I wasn't all too sure why she was saying this. Aunt Shorrie released her grip on my arm, a silent tear gliding down her impeccable face, marring it forever in my mind. Carefully, I stood up, minding the brace on my back which my dress would never seem to disguise. Folded up neatly, I retrieved the white blouse and the purple skirt, the flats residing in the tiny attic that I shared with my parents. Tripping over a jar, Kallice stirred slightly, yawning a bit, reminding me of her presence. Aunt Shorrie and I each held our breath, and I tiptoed my way back over to her, knowing that the little ladder I'd need to use lay beyond her. Her hazel eyes seemed huge and excited, and she bent over, whispering in my ear.

"Volunteer, sweetie. He'll be heads over heels for ya,"

_Nicolas Riddle (16), District Four Male-POV_

Most people would have been a bit taken aback to waking up in Victors Village, even more so when you haven't even won the Hunger Games. Smirking, I pushed aside the soft blankets and sheets, tossing the delicate pillows to the ground. Since I was just a baby, I'd been pampered and fawned over by the people of the Capitol, all because of what my father did when he was just seventeen years old. One year older than I was now, and he, he had won the Hunger Games with complete and total ease. Sometimes, the four of us would gather around the flat screen television to watch the tapes of Dad's Games, despite my mother's disapproval.

Crossing the room to my dresser, I examined my own expression in the mirror and flashed a winning smile. Dirty blonde hair, paired with stunning teal eyes, I already could picture me as the winner of the Hunger Games. Sapphire, my younger sister, would just have to wait until next year for her shot at glory. This year would be all about Nicolas Riddle, the dashing sixteen year old, hailing from the terrific District Four! The Capitol women would be kissing the ground I walked on by the time I got there, so I had to ensure that I'd be wearing the exactly right outfit. Not like it would be all too hard, I thought with a snicker, yanking over the oak drawer of my dresser, stuffed full of numerous outfits.

After a couple minutes of quick consideration, the clothing I quickly dressed myself in would have earned the approval of a Capitol stylist. Actually, that's harder than it sounded, since the people in the Capitol have a rather strange idea of what passed for fashion and what's yesterdays news. Simplistic yet fashionable, the black shirt and slacks seemed to draw attention to my eyes, which always shinned brighter than the sea itself. Most of the girls in the District fawned over me, and despite this, I really only had eyes for this one girl. Clumsy, average, and disabled, I never fully understood what attracted me to her. When I realized this, I mentally labeled her, "My Little Enigma," something which was quite ironic based on her nature. She'd never find out though, but maybe, maybe when I won I'd finally surrender my heart; that wasn't all too likely to happen though.

Strutting around some more in front of my mirror, I heard Sapphire's music flow from her speakers. As always, my fourteen year old sister just never seemed to understand what an acceptable volume level was. By now, I knew half of the words to "Slightly Chipped Full Moon," and the awkward dance she'd do whenever, "My Angel Put the Devil in Me," came on. Currently, the latter of the two songs echoed throughout the house, accompanied with the sounds of crashing. Not being able to reign in my curiosity, I slipped out of my room and barged into hers.

"Nic!" Sapphire squeaked, her foot pivoted as she punched a picture of last year's Victor.

Her custom ordered blue dress lay abandoned on the clear table, the glittering six inch heels right beside it. True to her name, Sapphire's eyes were the deepest and most vibrant blue, ginger hair popping out again her freckled skin. The two of us barely looked alike enough for people to assume we had the same parents, since most of the people in just about each District had similar features. For instance, most of us here had tanned skin and wide smiles, not to mention limber and quite skilled with a trident. I trained with one daily; swordplay was actually my strong point though.

"What?" I teased, "It's not like you were naked or anything…"

Rolling her eyes, Sapphire hit the volume button of her music player, letting the lyrics scream throughout the house. Swinging numerous hits, Cherry Stringers, the District Seven Tribute from last year, was soon reduced to a pulp. Her gray eyes looked blank, printed on the poster board that Sapphire had bothered to pick up in the Capitol; Dad let us come with him to watch the Hunger Games each year. Smirking slightly, I merely leaned against the wall and observed, trying to pick out which precious stones she'd be wearing this year at the Reaping. While it wouldn't be her year, there'd no doubt be a camera on there as soon as I took center stage, beaming proudly out at the entire District.

"YOU PUT THE DEVIL IN ME!" Sapphire cried, "YOU PUT THE DEVIL IN ME!"

Picking her up, I tossed her lightly on the bed as she continued to sing along to her music. Mom was right; Sapphire was addicted to her music player, which wouldn't be an asset to her when she competed in the Hunger Games. And as her big brother, it wasn't my privilege, but my duty to make sure that she'd have every opportunity. Unplugging the music player from the wall, Sapphire gave out an anguished cry, now singing to a song that only existed inside of her head. Exiting the room, I figured that she'd get ready for the Reaping eventually, not wanting to get arrested by Peacekeepers before she could become a Victor.

I waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs, since Dad and Mom had to leave early. Dad would be mentoring this year, so he'd have to be at the Reaping before anyone else would arrive. Sapphire and I were each used to this drill, having it perfectly memorized in each and every way. After about five minutes of standing there, Sapphire hurried down the stairs, looking as beautiful as a guy could describe his sister as.

"So now my dear, I ain't the girl you knew," Sapphire murmured, still singing that odd song of hers.

Shaking my head, I dragged her off to the Reaping, barely making it there in time. Hurriedly, we scrambled into our designated waiting pens. A couple of the Capitol citizens threw us rotten looks, quickly stopping upon realizing that we were the Riddle kids. Shooting a glare at them, a pale faced one shrank back, hiding behind one of the taller male workers. The entire display was quite pathetic, something that a lot of people here agreed on, even if we supposedly liked the Capitol. District Two were the lapdogs of the Capitol; District Four just happened to take advantage of our situation.

Our escort, Ariella Watchermen, already stood proudly on the stage. Every piece of her outfit was the color blue, though of various shades. Her lips seemed frosty, and her dress made me feel like someone had put the ocean onto cloth. Delicate and fragile, her soft personality instantly silenced the entire District, Ariella's accent hard to detect from subtle practice.

"Welcome, District Four," Ariella purred, "To this year's Hunger Games public Reaping. I wish good luck to each and every one of you, and may the strong prevail…for the odds are ever in your favor."

Everyone erupted into applause, with the exception of the white faced twelve year olds. They didn't know it, yet I'd be this year's Tribute in the Hunger Games! No one would be able to stand in my way! It was my year! Mine! Looking over at Sapphire, she seemed to be gazing towards me as well, giving me a thumbs up. A couple people around her were jostled, almost shouting angry words at her before remembering what the situation exactly was. Most of the kids in District Four tended to avoid us, unless we were their training partner that day in Training School. It probably had to do with our strength, I concluded, turning my attention back to Ariella as she trotted over to the glass reaping bowls right after the video commenced.

"The beautiful young lady who shall have the grand honor is…," Ariella announced, "Yasmine Covettie,"

People began to search around for whoever this year's Tribute was, yet no one appeared. Peacekeepers descended into the correct pen, searching until they found their pray. The female Tribute wasn't found, but it must not have mattered, since a pretty girl stepped out from among the fourteen year olds. Analyzing her quickly, we all knew she may not last all too long, though my eyes widened as I realized she was none other than my little Enigma.

"I volunteer as the female Tribute for District Four!" Fialla Howards called out, almost as if she was in a trance.

The Peacekeepers most likely felt glad, rushing over to Fialla when she came to terms with what she had done. With that back brace of hers, I couldn't tell why she thought that she'd be able to win the Hunger Games. Fialla shouldn't have Volunteered, I admonished, and she should have let them continue searching for that Yasmine kid. At least her death would be a glory filled one, an honorable fate to lay at rest in the Hunger Games. In fact, Fialla should be grateful that her District Partner would be the newest Victor in the long, long line of them. Smirking slightly, I watched with the rest of the District as the red faced girl was prodded onto the stage, staring out at us with wide eyes. No one Volunteered for Fialla, sealing her fate to die in the Hunger Games; the Hunger Games that I'd be winning.

Ariella had a critical look on her face, then shrugging slightly as she swayed her way over to the other Reaping bowl. Relaxed, I kept my focus on my father, grinning as he quickly shot me a thumbs up. He and Sapphire, I suddenly realized, were quite alike in their expressions. Both of them held their heads high, ready to fight off the world, even with my mother's disapproval. Ever since I was a little boy, she'd always wanted me to be a sweet little kid, and hated the idea of the Hunger Games. Part of me wondered how she felt today, knowing what I'd be about to do.

The beautiful escort drew out the slip of paper, pausing to read the name quietly to herself before announcing it to the entire District. Right now, I knew, would be the best time for me to Volunteer. No one else would be trying to right now, so I'd surely make it into this year's brawl. Looking over at my father once more, I lunged forward from the pen, drawing the attention of just about each person in the District. Especially, I noted, the attention of my Little Enigma.

"I Volunteer!" I yelled proudly, "I Volunteer!"

Marching boldly up to the stage, I towered over the small and frail form of Fialla. Ariella smiled approvingly, as if relieved that she'd get a shot at being the escort for the winning District this year. This Capitol lady better be extremely grateful, just like my District partner should be. Looking around at this year's Mentors, they'd also better be grateful that only one of their Tributes for this year would die. Smirking slightly, reaching outwards for the microphone from Ariella's dainty hand, I drew it close to myself, ready to introduce myself to the world.

"Hello, I'm Nicolas Riddle," I spoke calmly, "And I've but one thing to say….Victory or death!"

Handing back the microphone to Ariella, everyone burst into applause. They all knew that I'd be this year's Victor; they'd be downright stupid not to realize it. All of the sponsors would be betting on me right about now, not even needing to see who would be making up the competition. Of course, there really wasn't any, as competition implied that someone else this year would be standing a chance again me in the arena. And that, that wouldn't be all too likely this time.

_Fialla Howards (14), District Four Female-POV_

My entire family arrived early to the Reaping, leaving me to bask in the fading sunlight. Near me, a tiny little stream of water poured into a nearby drain, the slight suds to it indicating that the Mayor had treated himself to a luxurious bath. Dipping my fingers into the cool water, time seemed to slip past me, escaping my grasp. Daydreams frequented my head, keeping me nice and entertained. The only bad thing was that by the time I looked around, the reaping was just about to begin; everyone else had already signed in. I gulped, going as quickly as I could over to the Capitol check in lady, watching her complete her task with a sterile mask on her face. Thankfully, she wasn't all too mad, allowing me to join my fellow fourteen year olds without a moments delay. A couple of the kids raise an eyebrow at me, but our escort has a captivating presence.

She looked like an angel or a goddess of the sea. Ariella's hair fell in waves, graceful and seemingly without end, even though it stopped at her ankles. Her eyes, a soft gray, gave her a contemplative look most of the time, yet it only added to her beauty. Some girls near gave out a slight gasps, wanting to be this otherworldly creature. Makeup, perfect in each way, made her skin pale to the eye, giving off a subtle glow that everyone could detect. Ariella Watchermen must have been blessed, I decided, to be able to be like that by her own choice.

"Welcome, District Four to this year's Hunger Games public Reaping. I wish good luck to each and every one of you, and may the strong prevail," Ariella paused, leaving us intently waiting for the end of her sentence, "for the odds are ever in your favor."

Smiling slightly at us, a small nod of the head gave the signal. Following it obediently, the entire District and I burst in cheers, loving the little speech she had given before the Reaping. Not many escorts were able to craft their words so carefully, so precisely that just about no one was upset by it. Yet Ariella did, and that's why we loved her for it, demanding that she be our Escort year after year after year. With a wave off her gloved hand, Ariella turned our attention to the screen, where a video sent from the Capitol began to play.

This time, I decided to pay attention, as it would be my last time down here. Footage, immensely outdated, of the Dark Days was shown first, a voice narrating the whole time. We witnessed bombings, Capitol citizens killed viscously by members of the Districts, and the creation of the jabberjays. At the very last part, a smile grew on my face, as they just happened to be one of my favorite animals. It soon turned into a grimace, watching the smoldering ash of Old District Thirteen, the location for this year's Hunger Games. According to President Gremlin, it'd remain that way as a testament to what happens when the Districts break the trust of the "caring and kind" Capitol. The fated words, which we all knew, appeared in golden letters. The creation of the Hunger Games, a pageant in which two brave young people would fight to the death in a public arena; everyone knew this story by heart. Closing my eyes briefly, the image of the Mockinjay, Katniss Everdeen, came next and soon was replaced by her corpse. The Hunger Games were reinstated, the Capitol returned to glory, and the last words we saw, written in gold, "And all was well…"

"I'd say no words can describe our story, District Four," Ariella spoke in a grave voice, "Only silence, the utmost respect, can."

Our escort already stood by the glass reaping bowls, yet I found myself dwelling on the video. We saw the same one each year, yet this year it seemed to stick with me more. The Mockinjay's eyes bored into my mind, the gray almost looking inhumanly angry at her tormentors. Katniss Everdeen must have really hated the Capitol, I thought, though she didn't have any reason to. In school, you learned a brief lesson on her, about how the Mockinjay lived a wealthy and rich life, lonely, so she planned to take over Panem herself. President Gremlin knew this, liberating us from the spider web of the Mockinjay as soon as he could. At the age of fourteen, I still wasn't sure if I believed it or not.

Dimly, I heard someone this year Volunteer. Blinking a bit, my glance turned towards the Peacekeepers who were quickly heading in my direction. Sapphire Riddle stood near me, so she probably had been the one that Volunteered this year. Yet she didn't move from her place, gazing towards me with a look akin to pity. Blinking a bit, panic started to arise within me, realizing that I wasn't standing in the pen anymore. Had I Volunteered? A blush grew in my face, and I realized that I did, the Peacekeepers prodding me onto the stage. Upon the completion of their task, my eyes must have been huge as I stared out at the District, not saying a single word.

"Ah…," Ariella mumbled critically, then speaking clearly, "And for the honorable young man whom shall be joining Fialla in the most prestigious event…"

Watching her, she drew a small piece of white paper from the second Reaping bowl. Squinting slightly, I could almost make out the name of whoever the potential Tribute would be. Almost as if she was sensing my thoughts, Ariella dropped the name back into the beautiful glass bowl, parting her mouth to speak again. However, she quickly was interrupted by a Volunteer, whom I knew all too well. Nico, well, Nicolas walked up to the stage calmly, standing next to me.

"Hello, I'm Nicolas Riddle," Nico confirmed, "And I've but one thing to say…Victory or death!"

Everyone once again loved him, even if his speech wasn't nearly as long as Ariella's. When we shook hands, his grip seemed firm and confident, a million times stronger than my own flimsy handshake. Maybe, I wondered, maybe someone would actually want to sponsor a disabled girl. After all, how cool would it be to be able to say you knew the underdog would win from the start? My cheeks still burned a severe red, even with this bit of confidence, as the Peacekeepers led me into my room, leaving me alone until my family came in, all at once.

"Alla!" Stuart cried, clinging to my leg, "I don't want you to go!"

Rubbing his hair, I glanced over at Kallice, who seemed to be emotionless. Blinking a bit as she came over, my older sister scooped up my younger brother, soothing him as best she could. In almost minutes, Kallice had successfully lulled the eight year old into a dreamless sleep, sparing him from the nightmares that may soon come. Biting my lip slightly, a wave of guiltiness washed over me, no doubt easily seen on my petite little face. My siblings sat down on the corner of the room, prompting my parents to come over and give me a large embrace. Cuddling into their hold, coolness appeared in the palm of my hand.

"For good luck," my mother prompted, "it belonged to an old friend of Shorrie's."

Opening my small hand, I gazed in fascination at my token. It was a pocket watch, silver and grand, fastened onto a chain. This probably had been Lazlo's token, I realized with a grim smile, looking at it once more. Undoing the latch, I placed the pocket watch around my neck, feeling the soft ticking next to the beating of my own heart. Hopefully, both of them would keep on going, and if one had to fail, please let it be for Nico…

_Nicolas Riddle (16), District Four Male-POV_

Most of the time, Dad chatted with me on the best ways to win the Games. He went over how to find water, which way a river would flow, and some of the major constellations up in the night sky. Committing it all to memory, I smirked and nodded in the correct places, content with letting him talk. Dad went over a way to tell if food had been poisoned or not, which I neglected the information a bit, since I obviously wouldn't need it. The Careers would always have plenty of food, and if we didn't, then the sponsors would send it in for us. Those crazy Capitol people loved helping their Tributes win, and being able to partially claim our kills. As soon as I won, I'd just humor them, even though they didn't have much to do with it at all.

"We love you so very much, Nicky," Mom said, a sad smile on her face, "Come home for me- for us."

Smirking, my father's ring felt extremely light on my finger. In the Games, this would be my little piece of home, and I'd make sure to deliver it to my father in person. There'd be no way that some wacko would wrap it up in a little package, place it next to my coffin, and break my mother's frail heart in the process. Not only was this my year to win, this was my District, my country, and most importantly, my life; I didn't plan to let go of any of those anytime soon.

"Count on it," I promised, hugging her quickly, "I'll be home before you can say Tracker Jacker."


	5. District Five Train Ride

_Reina Vane (17), District Five Female-POV _

The Peacekeepers lead Elezar and me out of the Justice Building, their silent faces seeming grim from foreshadowing. Sooner than I would have liked, we were ushered into a steaming hot car, the doors closed behind us with a loud bang. Our stuttering escort, Tilinus kept his mouth firmly shut, leaving the lone two Mentors to handle all of the introductions. Each of them had spiky hair, similar to those who had stuck their finger into a live socket. A certain glimmer was found behind each of their eyes, leaving me know question as to how these two District Five citizens could have won the Games. Elektra and Alecto, each of the Mentors were in their late thirties, and could have been mistaken for twins.

"Right. You two will each have five minutes to gather your wits," Alecto ordered harshly, his male voice strong and deep, "Then, we'll talk about your strategies for your time in the Capitol."

I nodded meekly, nervously brushing down my skirt. My Reaping Outfit, the last time I'd ever have to wear it, consisted of a brown blouse covered in holes. Partnered with a stained skirt, the only thing that I actually liked about it was my normal brown boots. They had given me an illusion of comfort, something that didn't really exist ever since Cappie Grenger pulled my name out of the Reaping Bowl. Uncle Pinto, drunk as always, had shouted out into the silent crowd hurtful hoops and cheers of joy. He'd always been that way since my family, his wife, and his son were killed in that tornado; I shivered, I hated tornados.

Elezar glanced over at Alecto, using a quote for his reply, "They either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you…"

Alecto looked back at Elezar, his calm and confident gaze turning to one who felt like they were poking at a sleeping beast. Biting my lip slightly, I recalled how Elezar had taken the place of little Windos Whitley, a tiny thirteen year old boy who was just as smart as the kids my age. The thing that disturbed me the most was the calm, almost passive look on his face as he stepped onto the stage, and the piercing way his green eyes bored into mine. By now, I felt as if my fellow Tribute had read my entire soul, knowing each and every single one of my fears. He must have known my staggering amount of weaknesses, with almost no strengths, in my opinion, to topple them.

"Right…," Alecto said, his voice barely above a whisper, "Five minutes…"

Our Mentors walked over to the dining table, prompting two Avoxes to escort us to our rooms. The ground felt a bit wobbly here, causing me to nearly trip over when a bony, yet steadying hand grasped my shoulder. My hair hung in my face, preventing Elezar to see my blush as his long blond hair tickled my skin. If this had been a movie, right now would have been the part where he kissed me, and I, shocked, kissed back. Later on, he'd rescue me from the Hunger Games and we'd live together, Uncle Pinto and the Capitol never finding out. Unfortunately, in the movie of my life the director was sadistic and insisted on cutting out those scenes before they were even performed.

Mumbling something that even I couldn't understand, I scurried off into my room, letting out a sigh of relief as the door slammed closed behind me. Even now, in this room full of colors and technology beyond my wildest dreams and nightmares, I felt the exact same way I had only hours ago; dead. There wasn't any point in denying it; who would sponsor an abused and meek girl from District Five? No one would, I thought with only slight exasperation, collapsing down on the fluffy and oversized bed. They'd want to sponsor Elezar Brewen, not Reina Vane.

An eerie silence had developed in my large room. Frowning slightly, I turned over on the bed and then getting up, staring into the full sized mirror. Truly, my appearance was dreadful, though I might have actually been pretty, had it not been for Uncle Pinto. A splash of freckles appeared against my nose, contrasting with my pale skin, which was hidden by bruises and cuts. Reflecting back on my Reaping, the entire District had sorry looks on their faces, as if they too finally knew what I had been going through since I was only seven years old. Most of them had though I was brave, wearing the emotional mask as always, yet I knew that wasn't the case at all. If I had been brave, Uncle Pinto wouldn't have ever gotten the chance to start abusing me from his drinking problems. Maybe one of those dreaded tornados would gobble him up, as we lived in the part of the District located in Tornado Alley. The humor behind it might have been dark, probably occurring because of what happened, and I found myself let out a slight chuckle.

Cappie pounded on the door, "Come to the table, my dears!" he yelled, his voice fading a bit as he banged on Elezar's door as well.

Quickly, the walk to the dining area was a fast one, and I managed to slide into my seat right before Elezar arrived. As always, my fellow Tribute had a certain grace to him, something which most of been obtained by not having a care in the world. Hopefully, Elezar would stop talking in quotes and philosophical statements, as it had begun to bug me and frighten Alecto. Thinking of my Mentors, I looked over at Elektra, who seemed to be silently crying and hadn't said a word to us the whole entire time. Looking away, I couldn't help but feel sorry for the female Victor, whom had to kill her District Partner in her Hunger Games.

"Eat up!" Alecto instructed, not sparing Elektra a single glance, "You can't plan your win on an empty stomach!"

Obediently, I began loading my plate with just about everything I could see. White noodles, laden with a rich red sauce were the first thing that caught my eye, something which Alecto informed me was called spaghetti. Slices of chicken and pork were added next, and then I grabbed a small side dish, filling it up with each and every kind of fruit I could name, along with a couple that I couldn't. The whole time, Elezar merely sipped on the broth of some soup, which I found odd, as both of us looked like walking corpses from malnutrition. Glancing over at him, I must have looked inquisitive, as he thought through his mind, no doubt looking for another annoying quote of his.

"Food is merely a substance. We have no need of substance. Only our bodies do, and thus it is meaningless…," Elezar said, not quite answering my unspoken question.

Feigning understanding, I went back to devouring the food placed in front of me. It almost felt too soon when the Avoxes cleared it all away, leaving us with an empty table, with only glasses of water left over from the magnificent feast. Elektra had still not spoken a single word, gripping the mahogany table with her long and jagged fingernails. The male Mentor cleared his throat, gazing at each of us for a couple of sentences, and then began his speech.

_Elezar Brewen (18), District Five Male-POV_

"I will be working with...Elezar…," Alecto, my Mentor, stated firmly, "And Elektra will be working with you, Reina."

Nodding, I closed my eyes and began to meditate. Elektra and Reina would need to be clear of the dining area before Alecto would begin, I knew. Yet this didn't really matter, as my destiny had drawn me here hours earlier, and would lead me on my path. For some reason, there was something that I was supposed to do in this very Hunger Games. Could this great journey end at the same place of the Great Mockinjay? It mattered not, as much as I loved this life, even death would be greeted with welcome arms. A token wasn't even necessary for me, for if I had the same blue sky staring down at me, I'd always feel connected, as we all are connected.

A tapping noise filled the room, signaling me that Alecto's state of mind was one of the irked. Responding with a slight smile, I opened my eyes to look at my Mentor. An agitated spirit, his aura once one of a free and happy child, vanquished by blood lust that had ensued in the hated Hunger Games. It only took me an instant to see that, helped by myself vanquishing as much ties to this Earth as was humanly possible. Still, that didn't stop me from taking out as much tesserae as possible for my poor family, resulting in seventy two slips of paper with my name in it circulating the Reaping bowl. The thing I found most curious was that my name hadn't been drawn; I had Volunteered in order to walk down my destined path. Windos Whitley's destiny wasn't yet upon him, a mere bad stroke of luck for him that his name had been drawn, almost ending his path prematurely.

"Now, Elezar Brewen," Alecto said, pronouncing my name properly, _bray-win_, instead of the _brew-in_, it looked so close to, "Tell me why you had Volunteered for young Windos Whitley."

"My time has come;" I told him calmly, "Windos' destiny was not yet upon him, the same for fair Primrose Everdeen when her name had been called all those years ago. May the odds be ever in his favor, as I have taken the darkness to give him the light."

Alecto nodded, scratching his chin lightly as he thought up an angle for me to play. I, however, had no intentions for doing something that would leave people with an untrue impression. That would only cloud the mind, blocking my already grayed viewpoint even more so. If I was to be able to achieve my destiny, playing my role correctly in the role of the universe, then this would have to be the way I was to be. Unless, the hand of fate guided me down a different path, to which I would offer no struggle. Doing this, I would finally be able to understand everything on this world, and finally, my spirit could truly be free, ready to start the next great adventure.

"All right, I won't judge," Alecto stated, "Basically, try to play up the 'thirteen is too young' angle that way the more sympathetic sponsors will agree with your view, sponsoring you."

"Do or do not," I reprimanded, "There is no try."

My Mentor must have been very confused, for he blinked slightly as if he thought I had been someone else. Many people have told me that I gave off an aura of wisdom and grace, which helped towards my ultimate goal, I'm positive of. Two of my five siblings had already passed away in the Hunger Games, leading people to direct feelings of sadness to my family. Father, who can't speak anymore from a factory accident, only helped to further them down this road, and so many people visited me with feelings of sorrow. Merely, I just nodded kindly in their direction, wishing to get back to meditating, that way my free spirit could fly over this land in solitude. In ancient times, I would have most certainly been a hermit or a monk, not a Tribute, unless of course, destiny would demand so.

"…What weapons are you skilled with?" Alecto asked, hastily changing the subject.

"Weapons? The pen. It is mightier than the sword," I replied, smiling still at my baffled Mentor.

Words ringing true, they still threw the older man off, leaving Alecto gaping at me. His behavior had not been one that I had expected from his, as the odd habits of the Capitol citizens were surely ones that he were used to. No one had taught me to think this way; I had thought long and hard, and after a period of thought, it all became rather clear to me. My sister and brother, long since dead, must have been having an exciting new journey. When they had been Reaped, out of my whole family, I displayed happiness for them, hugging each as they cried tears. Even at my own Reaping, the slightly smaller family, formally with five siblings, had displayed anguish and fear for my life. As much as I tried to tell them otherwise, my mother left the room with tears spilling out of her dainty blue eyes.

"You can't fight with a pen," Alecto informed, "So, that means you can't use any weapons. Just brilliant," he grumbled, "What about strengths? Other things than weapons?"

I told my Mentor of my great speed. No one at all in the entire District could outrun me, no matter how hard they worked or how long they had trained. All of them had merely tried to beat me, already making it impossible for them to do so. Alecto had already been told this, by yours truly, and even he seemed to have a hard time grasping the concept. There would be no trying to win the Hunger Games; if the odds were in my favor, then I would win, and if the odds were not in my favor, then I would be guided onto the next adventure destiny has in store for me. Though sometimes, I wonder if this is the next world, and if fate is pressing me onwards, seeing how long until I would break. If that happened, there would be no feelings prompting me to mind, as I had let go of such things long, long ago.

"I am highly resourceful," I added, finding this chat unneeded, "And I know that you can starve to death in safety. The destined path for me is awaiting me in the arena, which my brains will help me to achieve, continuing on with the flow of this universe. Those are my strengths, as I have been able to tell, and I keep my eyes open. Allies will come to me, seeking my shelter, and I shall not turn them away, as I would not have them do so to me…I am willing to die."

_Reina Vane (17), District Five Female-POV _

Elektra broke down about half way through our session, leaving Cappie to send me into the room to watch the Reapings. The girl from One frightened me, her yellow eyes looking like one of a wolf, staring at her doomed prey. And the boy, whom I couldn't remember if he was from One or Two, looked as if someone had marred his brown irises with blood, changing the color forever and ever. Each of them sent another chill running down my spine, goose bumps running up and down my bruised arms. There wasn't any way I'd want to meet them in the arena, as I much preferred to face off the disabled girl from Four. Fialla, I recalled, had already been marked down as a Bloodbath Tribute, and most likely would be killed by her devilish District Partner. People frowned upon this commonly, though the look on his face gave me reason to believe that he wouldn't care at all. Throughout the rest of the footage, I couldn't shake the Career Tributes out of my head, already seeing the deaths of my fellow Tributes. The boy from Three and the Girl from Ten, those two I predicted to be Bloodbaths, neither of them appeared to be up to winning the Games. And I, I had looked emotionless, almost as much of a monster of the Careers; I didn't like that idea at all.

"Did you record it?" Alecto asked an Avox, ushering Elezar to sit down next to me on the couch right when Josh Quick from District Twelve's image flashed off the screen.

Cappie chirped happily, "You bet your buttons! What kind of Escort would I be if I couldn't even do that much?"

The next face I pictured, rimmed with blood from Cashmere Combe, was of Adia Loya. The District Thirteen girl looked so sweet, so innocent, and I couldn't help but despair for her. All of us were going to die, all of us but one, and that one would be a ruthless murder. Effectively, the Hunger Games weeded out the good from the bad, rewarding the monsters that it encouraged. How could people raise their children to be like that?

_"And now for a special message from Datura Gremlin, this year's Head Gamemaker!"_

_Datura Gremlin (19), Head Gamemaker-POV_

Standing on the black stage, white lights flashed up at me. All around the country, the filthy families of the Districts were watching me, curious as to why I chose to speak to them. Images flashed into my mind, consisting of the beautiful arena my Gamemakers were quick to build. Of course, it always did help when your Uncle was none other than President Gremlin himself. Smiling cruelly, I recalled how it had been the mongrel soldiers from District Seven who had taken the lives of my parents. Well, revenge would soon be mine. Corpses, more than twenty six of them, would be soon lying at my feet. The feeling of euphoria I'd feel when I gift wrapped twenty five, shipping them back to their horrified and shamed family members. I always did hate the Districts, and as a child, I must always have my games. People should know how we children feel about our _games_.

"Tributes," I spoke icily, not needing a microphone as silence soon fell, "You have been Reaped. You are now in the care of the Capitol. We must always have our winner, which means that twenty five of you will soon fall. This is going to be a Hunger Games that no one will ever forget, and you will be our players. I do _adore _all of my playthings, so I shall take good care of you…Just don't forget where you are. And should I get restless, well….Welcome to the Games."

Brushing back my pure white hair, my smirk was one of a dark and menacing monster. Datura, my name, was after a poisonous flower, one which I would be sure to fill my precious arena with. My toys would be here soon though, and I must make sure that they have some fun. After all, my fun will begin soon enough…


	6. District Six Train Ride

_Maya Eberhart (16), District Six Female-POV_

The Peacekeepers tore me from the protective hold of my father. Only an hour earlier, Marco and Cat, my siblings, had helped me on my way up to the stage. And now, now they stood powerless, my sister standing off in the corner as she cried silently to herself. People commented that Cat looked eerily similar to me, with the same pale skin, long blonde hair, and soft gray eyes. Of course, Cat was more like Marco in my opinion, with not a single freckle in sight. I never really pointed this out though, and I suppose I might not ever get to, as the Peacekeepers marched me into the car.

My District Partner, a boy in my year at school, hadn't arrived here yet. Stroking the plush leather of the seats, it was incredibly likely that this had been built here in District Six. If only they'd let the Tributes bring in cars as their tokens, since it would give us aid in just about each and every Career Pack hunt. Then again, the Capitol really did enjoy watching the Careers have at it, so the large token which could help us so much would likely never get to see the arena. Unless they decided to give a car to each of the Tributes, doing some gruesome version of bumper cars for the next Quarter Quell.

Our escort, Cassandra Battzy looked me over, noting my skinny frame. She looked like she was about to say something, yet then held her tongue, glancing expectantly out of the car. The simple dressed Capitol lady must have been trying to figure out a strategy for me, as the lone Victor for District Six had died two weeks ago from a morphling overdose. Worst thing was, Gettys, the only Victor, had won the seventy seventh Hunger Games. The Capitol never did talk about the seventy sixth though, since that's where the Capitol children had to participate. Part of the reason why District Thirteen had to submit Tributes as well, and they partially rigged it against the people of the Mining District. In fact, that was the entire reason that each time District Twelve had a Victor, they always seemed to disappear a couple years later, right around when the Capitol people would forget all about them. Yet in the Districts, we never do quite forget.

The plain gray dress, matching my eyes, which I had worn for the Reaping didn't show the stains from my salty tears. Hopefully I didn't have red eyes, or even puffy from the hot liquid that had been sliding down my cheeks. Glancing out the window into the mirror, I let out a slight sigh of relief as it wasn't as noticeable as I had feared. Sadly, people would still be able to tell if they placed me under examination. Not too many people would want to sponsor me right now, unless they were sympathetic. Dwelling on this, I didn't even notice as the car slid to a halt, startling me out of my daze. Cassius had materialized suddenly, sitting next to me as he looked out the window, an odd smile on his happy face.

"I'll see about getting the Commenter's talk on the Reapings. It's even more helpful than actually watching the Reapings happen, as you hear the opinions of professionals," Cassandra stated, stepping briskly out of the car in her brown trench coat, her boots thudding as she made her way into the train.

Quickly climbing out of the car, I almost missed the brief dejected look that Cassius had. He must have been finally realized what this meant, being Reaped for the Hunger Games. Perfectly, I remember how my District Partner yawned upon being called up to the stage, as if the Hunger Games was mere child's play. Well, I suppose it is child's play now, since adults aren't allowed to participate in the arena. And the new Head Gamemaker, the one with the icy blue eyes, sent chills down the backs of everyone with a shred of sanity in their head. Cassius probably didn't fear her at all, then, but I knew that we were lucky; Datura didn't especially hate our District.

"Hey, Hey Maya, over here!" A reporter cried out, blinding me with the flashing of his camera.

Another woman, rounded with an oddly bony face jumped out in front of him, her eyes looking keen, "Smile pretty Maya!"

One after another, they took their snap shots of me. For the entire time, I dreaded the experience, making no attempt to smile whatsoever. Yet the lack of cheeriness only encouraged the swarm of Capitol citizens even more, almost taking more pictures of me than my jolly acting District Partner. There was no way I could trust the happy Cassius Lisette, and for that matter, there was no way I could trust anyone; not even my Escort who only wanted to help. If I was going to win the Hunger Games, then I'd do this the same thing I did everything else, alone. Timidly, I swept into the train, following my Escort who had long since vanished inside the vast machine built right here in District Six.

Clambering in behind me, Cassius stalked off towards the enormous feast set out for the three of us. Naturally, the Capitol wouldn't let any of the servants have any, most likely to keep them weak and unable to rebel. For a moment, I pondered wherever it would be better to be in the Hunger Games or live your life as a servant; I wasn't all too sure of my first response, that it'd be better to be a slave to the Capitol forever. At least when you died, you were free from them in the afterlife, or at least I'd hope you'd be. If you weren't, then each and every one of us didn't even need to be born. It didn't matter though, as I'd probably be able to make it out, since I'm one of the more cunning kids in the District.

"You two eat up, 'kay?" Cassandra requested, expecting us to have no argument, "I've got it rigged so you can watch it right now! Brilliant, eh?"

"Sure, sure," Cassius replied happily, already seated at the table, "No way we'd want to waste this anyways."

Not bothering to reply to her, I sat down in my seat and grabbed one of everything in sight. Half of the things in my plate I'd never seen in my life time, a quarter of them I'd only dreamt of having, an eighth of them I'd only heard about from some of the snobby rich kids at school, and the measly little servings of District's Six's bread was the only thing that I found to be familiar. It was a good thing I wasn't a picky eater, like my sister Cat was, or I would have been starving tonight. Instead, a symphony of taste started in my mouth, and I would have enjoyed it more, had not I been listening to the Reaping commenters.

_Cassius Lisette (16), District Six Male-POV_

For the most part, the commenters were fairly boring as always. Maya seemed to actually be taking interest, even jotting down notes on the various Tributes. Ha! It's not like she'll need it, as they'll show the list of people to look out for at the end. And even then, it's quite easy to predict that during training. So really, this is just a waste of my time, with zero thrills in it, even if I'm going to go fight to the death in a week or so. The swarm of reporters outside had been interesting, but soon they too faded into the background, repeating the same actions over and over and over again. Even the people who are supposedly pointing out who to sponsor are the same: Mika Vettes and Haroldi Haroldi. The Head Gamemaker and the President, curiously, weren't present tonight. Probably going over some details on the arena or something; maybe if I was lucky it would actually provide me some entertainment for a little while.

_"And now, Panem, here is the predicted Bloodbath list!" _Haroldi Haroldi said in a squeaky voice.

As always, no images from District's One or Two appeared on the screen. The very first member of the Bloodbath list was Jitz Low, the District Three boy, who appeared to be a bit of a downer. Fialla Howards, the cute funny girl from Four who Volunteered, was shown next. It must have been because of her back brace, so Fialla wasn't expected to make it very far. Still, I had a niggling feeling that the experts were wrong on that matter. My eyes wandered over to Maya, who couldn't take her eyes off of her own picture on the screen.

"Hey," I said softly, pulling her into a hug, "They're almost never right on the Bloodbath list. You'll be fine…"

Maya didn't make any noise, staring at the TV with her gray eyes. Each of us has gray eyes, though mine were considerably darker than her light ones. While she was skinny, my build was strong, with a rounded face. Her hair contrasted considerably with my short dark hair, and taking my mind off of this, I slowly released Maya from the hug. From the looks of things, she probably didn't even need my comfort, as she always came off as a bit untrustworthy to me.

It was a well known fact that the Gamemakers didn't like Seven, Twelve, or Thirteen but the next image to appear on the screen was from Nine. They might have put their prejudice aside, or they might have had something even bigger planned for those six Tributes. Ebon Furial, the cute little guy had tripped on his way up to the stage, and didn't even know what was going on. My heart panged from sadness, as no one like Ebon should have been in the Games, and much less already pinned down from death in the Bloodbath. His District Partner, Cedar, fell to the ground in tears and had to be carried gently to the stage; she was on the Bloodbath list as well. Both Tributes from District Ten were expected to pass away then as well; Wednesday Vespers and Ether Lessing, each of them looking eerily alike, as if they had been brother and sister.

_"Thank you, Panem! May the odds be ever in your favor and have a happy Hunger Games!" _Haroldi Haroldi piped cheerily, the screen quickly replaced with the seal of the Capitol.

Cassandra shut off the screen, giving us a look that seemed to yell: "You're supposed to be eating!" Glancing at my District Partner, each of us filled our plates full once again and wolfed it all down. Really, I didn't actually enjoy being on a train all too much, as it reminds me of my dead mother. Maya was luckier than she realized, I noted, looking at her token of a locket, complete with a picture of her family of five. I used to have a brother; he would have been twenty right now. His name was August; he died in the Hunger Games at the age of twelve. Dad despaired over him for a long time, leaving me the task of running the shop, even if people complained that quality wasn't nearly as good. But at age eight, I expected my brother to win the Hunger Games, undaunted when he appeared on the Bloodbath list, just like Maya had, and then died exactly as predicted. That was when I hated my photographic memory, as I'll always see my brother being stabbed by that Career in a sadistic manner. It was then that I realized that August wouldn't be coming home; August was dead.

But my grief just couldn't stop there. See, when I was only twelve years old, I had my name entered into the Reaping four times. Though I wasn't picked, my mother sort of was, even if she didn't die in the Hunger Games. There'd been a train accident when I wasn't around, and later I found out why my mother was never going home. To make it worse, it'd been a Tribute train coming back here for repairs that had taken her life. From that point on, I hated trains, and right now, I couldn't wait to be able to step out of this symbol of death. To make matters worse, my swinging branch sat back in my room at District Six, far out of my reach by now. One day in November I'd found it, and by swinging it above my head, it helped me get over the loss of my mother, which plagued me for an entire year. And now, now it's just Dad and I, with me running the shop while he takes care of the finances. Hopefully, it won't be just Dad in a week or two; though, at least I'd prepared for this by wiring the shop so it could become automated.

"Good," Cassandra said approvingly, "Most Escorts would tell you to go sleep now, since we won't be in the Capitol yet, but I'm not. However, I can't work with both of you separately…Chose then. Work alone and get less help, or together and get more help."

"Alone," Maya answered, "Completely alone," and then she walked from the table, vanishing into the darkness of her room.

Cassandra looked over at me, sighing slightly before sitting down across from me. Part of me wondered exactly why she felt that way, since Maya seemed to have the confidence to come up with her own strategies. And besides, she'd probably come back running to Cassandra as soon as she took a good look at the Careers during the Chariot rides. Painfully, I remembered the exact image of last year's District Six outfits; the boy had been dressed up as a traffic cop, and the girl as an odd white piece of paper they called a ticket. The entire thing had been hard to look out, and unfortunately, I just couldn't seem to forget it, even as they died in the Bloodbath together.

"Let's get to work then, shall we?" Cassandra stated, not really asking a question as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

Confirming this, I allowed myself to listen as she talked about each little detail. Despite the fact that I'd already picked my interview angle, she went on and on about the pros and cons of each way to appear. Surely I'd be receiving sponsors, having escaped the Bloodbath list; unless, of course, they thought I'd be having Maya as an ally in the arena. To be honest, I wasn't really sure about who I'd ally with, though I guess I'd find out when someone asked me or I asked them in the Training portion of the Games. After going over that, Cassandra felt the need to once again state to let the stylists do whatever they wanted to me, that way they could, "accentuate your handsomeness, Cassius."

"Why, you think I'm handsome?" I asked, grinning charmingly.

A delicate blush graced Cassandra's cheeks, drawing out another chuckle from me. I could spend all night here, teasing my Escort who was no doubt at least twenty years older than me and approved of the bloodshed that had taken my brother from me. There was no way I'd call her cute, just a bit friendly, and I suppose pleasant looking. Perhaps if we had been different people, in another time, in another place, then my opinions might have changed. But as we were, this was simply entertainment for me and frustration later on for her.

"You know, most of the girls here seem to agree with you," I told her, a slight sing-song tone to my voice, "And of all the Capitol Women, you're my favorite…"

Cassandra blushed more, but instead of a girly smile, she wore a grimace, "If you weren't going to die in a week, I'd slap you!"

Picking up her notebook, she bustled off in the same direction Maya had. Looks like everything was back to being boring, I thought, reclining back in my chair. My stylists better be more exciting than these people seemed to be; yet maybe I ought to apologize to Cassandra. Then again, she should have known how to tell a joke. And wasn't she the one taking me to my doom?


	7. District Seven Train Ride

_Axel Treefall (17), District Seven Male-POV_

Standing in the room all by myself, I angrily threw off the red Reaping shirt. Quickly following it, the nice black slacks, which had belonged to my brother, followed it into the trash heap. It didn't matter to me if I had Forest's clothing with me or not, since I wouldn't be coming out of here alive. And if I did come out of here alive, well, then the world is even worse than I thought. There wasn't anything I wanted to do know but to protect her, to protect Juniper from the awful evils in the arena. Everyone knew exactly what it could do, and almost no one knew better than me. After all, my brother had been killed in it, just like I would eventually. Maybe someone would be kind enough to place my coffin next to Forest's, that way my corpse could be near his. Instantly, Juniper's kind face flashed into my mind, knowing that she'd be the one to do it.

Kicking the drawers open, the slight pain that erupted in my toe was ignored, as I've seen far worse. Since my father died in his drunken state, I'd been the man of the house, so I went to work in the lumber yard. From years of doing so, my size had become brawny and strong, leaving some of the younger children to be scared of me. Thinking back to when I had been called up onto the stage, this little girl cried silently for me, even if she didn't know me. Later, during my allotted hour of time to say goodbye to no one, she had came and revealed that her brother wanted to be like me. That little girl said that she didn't want her brother to be dead, and promptly left the room in tears, not even realizing what she had just said. It didn't matter though; I would be dead, and Juniper would be alive, so this world would be just a little bit better.

"You know, if you stopped throwing a hissy fit you'd be able to keep yourself in better shape," Cypress stated, walking out from the shadows of my room.

Two years ago, Cypress was Reaped for the Hunger Games at the young age of twelve. On the Bloodbath list, people were sure she was going to die, even when she got a score of seven in training. Somehow, Cypress managed to keep to the shadows and evade detection, waiting for her moment to strike when only three Careers were left. Perfectly, I remember how she had snuck into their camp late at night, using her small form and the cover of darkness to her advantage, and poisoned their food supplies. The next morning, Cypress left the arena as the newest Victor of the Hunger Games. More so, Cypress just happened to be the only Mentor for District Seven, since it wasn't a well kept secret of the Head Gamemaker's hatred towards our District. Yet for some strange reason, Cypress had been left alive, probably because the small girl, standing at a height of 4 feet and 10 inches, quickly became a Capitol favorite.

"Whatever, Cypress," I huffed, not exactly liking that my fate was in the hands of a twiggy girl three years younger than me.

Darting around the room slightly as she walked, her brown braids hung down her face perfectly, no doubt done by our Escort. Khihan, a ginger haired man who bonded quickly with our Mentor over two years, absolutely adored doing people's hair. In fact, Khihan had actually told us that he wanted to by a stylist, yet people found that he simply talked all too much to be able to keep the Tributes happy in Remake Center. And so, he took up one of the room in Cypress' house, acting as the parental guardian of the orphaned Victor.

"I spoke with Juniper," Cypress informed me, a taunting edge to her voice, "Do you want to know what she said?"

Everything melted away, putting me in my happy place; the meadow. Juniper and I sat deep inside of it; a dress made of the purest silk and covered in rose petals on her. Her blonde hair fell gracefully down her back, two small braids connecting in the back to make a simple crown. Dazzling blue eyes, they looked like tiny pieces of the bluest sky had fallen down from the earth, held captive by the most beautiful girl I know. To say I liked Juniper would be an understatement, I reflected, and she'd never get to know it. Maybe when she joined Cypress as a Mentor she would, but for now, the fair haired beauty would have to be kept in the dark.

"What did she say?" I almost growled, not wanting to let her know how much I really did want to know.

Tip toeing forward once again, wearing black flats and one of the more pretty Capitol dresses, Cypress whispered into my ear, "She wants to ally with you…"

Skipping out of the room, the first thought I processed was that the Capitol spoiled Cypress just a little too much. As soon as I came back to where I was, my Mentor already vanished, and I stood alone in my room, the crumpled clothes still sitting in the trash heap. Juniper actually wanted to ally with me; this was very, very good. I've learned from watching the Games that if you want to protect someone, it's best to do so when they're not trying to slit open your throat. Thankfully, I shouldn't even have to deal with that problem, and maybe Cypress could actually be of help to us. And if she couldn't, then Khihan might have some ideas on what to do, if I could only get him to shut up long enough to listen.

It was only then that I realized I had only been wearing my boxers the entire time. Face contracting in anger; I punched the wall, expecting my fist to come through cleanly just as it had back at home. Instead, the wall stayed perfectly intact, taunting me even further as a painful throbbing formed in my left hand. Flinging it all around, curses rang loud and clear, causing an Avox to come closer to see what had happened. Growling at the Avox, she must have been skittish, as she quickly ran off without even a bow in my direction.

When the throbbing calmed down to a dull ache, I ransacked the drawers and pulled out some clothing I deemed to be acceptable. Black sweat pants, matching sweatshirt, and a gray tank top were the spoils of my hunt, which I pulled on quickly in case Cypress snuck up on me again. Leaving on my tennis shoes, the table laden with food was completely set up. Only unlike early, it had been filled with deserts, instead of the meat and soups I had devoured previously. Juniper sat there, staring at the screen of the television intently, as some creepy girl with white hair spoke.

"_Just don't forget where you are. And should I get restless, well….Welcome to the Games."_

Taking it all in, a helpful little piece of script under her image identified her as Datura Gremlin. Everyone knew her to be a freak of nature, accomplishing this feat at only age nineteen. Smirking slightly, I recalled how my Uncle Brutus had been among the small force that killed her parents. While the attempt at starting another rebellion had failed, the uneasiness in the Districts surely would have risen. And who knows? Maybe Juniper will be the next spark to start the flame, just like how Katniss Everdeen had became the Mockingjay. Clenching my fist slightly, I realized that Datura had the same eyes as Juniper; only Datura's had a chilled look to it, and strangely were rimmed with yellow.

_Juniper Griffin (17), District Seven Female-POV_

By the time Axel had come back from what Cypress explained as a, "hissy fit," the flowers in my hair had fallen out. Once I had gotten out of view of the cameras, I allowed myself to break down into sobs, spending most of my time doing such at the table. Khihan had insisted on braiding my hair, and in my disheartened state, there wasn't any energy left in me to protest. Though thankfully, the chatty Capitol citizen hadn't braided mine the same way that he had done Cypress'. Still wearing my beautiful, and new, yellow dress, my hair now was pinned up elaborately. I would have wondered why Khihan hadn't been permitted to be a stylist, if I hadn't nearly gone deaf in the entire process.

"Ah, that was Datura! Lovely girl! I remember when she was born, they had a beautiful party! I was there of course and I wore this lovely thing called a kilt! No one else wore it and would you believe it? I know! Cassandra, another Escort, actually asked me if I was wearing Gaia's, the old Victor, may she , clothes! The nerve of that woman! And speaking of women, I think that you'd do smashingly well in the Capitol, Axel! Of course you would too, Juniper darling! I just-" Khihan, thankfully, was silenced by a glare from Axel.

Reminding myself not to swoon, I took in Axel's entire form again, just in case I had missed a small detail when he had joined me up in the stage. His eyes were like angered electricity, which I imagined the people in District Five and District Three faced on a daily basis. Unlike me, Axel had pale skin, while mine was a bit tan. I suppose this might have been because my father ran the paper factory, the very one that Axel had lost his father to. When he had been given the medal from the Mayor, since he was the oldest child, I remember feeling extremely guilty, as if it had been my fault somehow. He'd seemed brooding and unapproachable, his dark hair only adding to is, and I wondered if he really did want to ally with me like Cypress had said. Honestly, I hoped he did, so maybe I could make it up to him, or at least help him in some way.

Cypress directed our attention towards her, "You two are going to be allying, correct?"

Looking at Axel, he glanced at me, our eyes meeting, drawing a blush out of me. If he noticed, I think I'd die before we even got to the Hunger Games, which would definitely be a first in the history of Panem. If it did happen, they'd probably panic and try to find some girl in District Seven who looked exactly like me, forcing her to pretend to be me. Not wanting that to happen, I looked away from him, nodding my consent towards Cypress.

"Good," she replied smiling, "That makes my job a whole lot easier. Axel, I'm thinking you'll be the brawn and Juniper will be the brains. No arguments."

Khihan added, "We'll have plenty of time for that during Training! Just agree now on when you'll split up in the Games, that way you won't have to kill each other! It's always sad and disgraceful when that happened. That's what I told Cypress when she was here. I said, 'Cypress, you can't ally with him the whole time! You need to break off!' Good thing was she spat, 'I don't want to ally with _him_!' And then all was well!"

Taking a calming breath, I tried to endure all of Khihan's chattering. Most of it he didn't even need to say, so I tried to focus on what really mattered in that treasure hunt of information he had created for us. Confusingly, it might have taken me about a minute to have found the actual piece of advice in there: agreeing on when to split up. Most people tended to let their partner leave around the final eight, but I couldn't help but think that it would be far too early. Axel would be the one coming out of the Hunger Games alive; he's already lost so much and I've got too much. No one would miss Juniper Griffin that much, since I was rich and wealthy, not to mention that I had both my parents along with an older sister. While Axel, he'd already lost so much, he shouldn't have to lose himself as well.

"Final five," I requested, trying to keep myself from looking away from Axel.

Truthfully, I didn't want to have to stop allying with him then. I wanted it to last until the final two, being Axel and I, in which I'd be the one to perish. But it'd be all right, I'd be fine; I'd be up there. And my parents would be able to get over it eventually, same thing with my sister, Lilac, who had turned nineteen and getting married soon. If I became an Aunt from Lilac and her fiancé, then they'd have a baby to shower their joy over. Thinking back to my goodbye, Lilac had said she'd name her daughter after me, wherever I came back from the Hunger Games or not. But if Axel died in the Hunger Games, there was no way I'd be able to live with myself, knowing that I could have done something. That I could have been quicker, that I could have been stronger, that I could have been wiser, that I could have…That I could have done something!

"Axel?" Cypress prompted, unwrapping a sweet and popping it in her mouth.

"Final Three," Axel demanded, glancing over at me, and I merely nodded, liking that he didn't want to part all that early either.

Our Mentor sighed, "That's too late. With those odds, it's very likely that you'll end up as the final two. It'll be a whole Everdeen-Mellark situation, and if you so much as hesitate, the Capitol will take one of you out themselves. You do know how the Head Gamemaker feels about our District, right?"

"I know," I replied quietly, "If it gets down to Axel and I, expect to see Axel as your Mentoring partner next-"

"No!" Axel interrupted gruffly, "You'll be the one coming home! Not me!"

Initially, I bit back, "You've lost to much, Axel! I know! So you'll be the Victor this year!" as there wasn't any way that I'd let me be the Victor like that. His ghost would haunt my days, number my hours, and breathe down my neck each and every minute. In my dreams, I would see him standing there, asking why I had to kill him. I wouldn't be able to handle that, no matter what drug that Capitol gave me, what hairstyle Khihan came up with, or what joke Cypress would share. My crush would have died by my hands, splattering his blood all over me, seeping into my very skin, and I knew it'd never truly get away. One of the things I always wondered is how the Victors managed to keep from going insane; evidently, some of them didn't. According to the textbooks, a very old Victor named Enobaria had her teeth modified into weapons. Back in the safety of the school, we all chortled at that and asked the teacher why they didn't confiscate her teeth in the incomplete Third Quarter Quell.

"I have no one, NO ONE! You have everything you want! I don't even want to go home; I just want to die here!" Axel raged, casting an eerie silence across the room, "I have no one!"

_Datura Gremlin (19), Head Gamemaker-POV_

"What do you mean they're not that toxic?" I screamed, throwing a glass table at the cowering Gamemaker.

Today, I had thought, would be another string of perfect days that I've been having as of lately. The crop of Tributes this year seemed to be decent, especially that striking girl from One, Cashmere, the one with the yellow eyes. Because they reminded me of my own, which were edged with the same color, I'd taken an interest in the girl. If she was this year's Victor, I'd make her into a Capitol favorite, just like the old Head Gamemaker had done to Cypress Junos. For that reason only, Uncle and I had let the District Seven Victor live, and admittedly I did feel a bit fond of her. She was like a little pet, one that I couldn't help but pet it and throw the occasional bone to. Though politically speaking, it could be used to dim the rumors of my true hatred for that despicable District Seven.

"Th-The Datura flowers aren't going to kill them, Miss Gremlin!" Argos, a balding and sickly Gamemaker stammered.

Glowering at him, my eyes narrowed, making it look as if they were a golden yellow, "Then you know what to do, right Argos?"

Argo gulped, paling even more, "I-I'll have the mutation t-team right on it, Miss Gre-Gremlin!"

Good. Everything was back on schedule. After all, everything had to be just so before my toys arrived or otherwise we won't have nearly as much fun as we could have.


	8. District Eight Train Ride

_Willa Hellmans (18), District Eight Female-POV_

Awkwardly, the Peacekeepers had carried me out of the Justice Building an hour earlier, decided that I was all too slow for the strict schedule. Really, I would have expected this kind of thing had I been nine months along, but I was just seven months along. So what if my baby bump wasn't exactly invisible? And by all technicalities, I couldn't go into the Games, as District Eight had three Tributes now or Two and a half if you're getting particular about the numbers. Though, they let the Mockingjay into the Third Quarter Quell pregnant, even if that turned out to be a big hoax, so I guess they didn't even bat an eye at these sort of things. And that Datura girl, surely she must have known what I've been going through? It's not exactly a secret what type of things she's been up to as of late.

Now, I stood by myself on the train, waiting for our Escort to find wherever our Mentors wandered off to. Her name was Cosma, and she wore a ridiculous pink dress, partnered with a powdered wig that she claimed held historical reverence. Well, I sure ain't ever heard of it, so I supposed she might have been making up lies. My District Partner, Abe, didn't even blink an eye at it, standing in a corner in a quiet silence. Rubbing my baby bump, I felt myself launching back into my planning mode.

Logically, the best thing to do would be to earn as many sponsors as I possibly good. The sympathy would be an easy card to play, especially if I told them how my _awful _parents had kicked me out of the house, while my boyfriend abandoned me. Of course, it would be quite easy to dramatize it even more, perhaps even adding in a gun fight where Mom and Pops tried to kill my baby. Already, I'd found out the gender, a baby boy, and shockingly, a baby girl. That would make my earlier number of Tributes incorrect, making District Eight be sending in four, or three Tributes from the way you look at things. Reflecting on names of important people in the Capitol, I decided I'd tell the interviewer that I named my son Clarence after him, and my daughter Clare. There's no way I'd actually give them boring, Capitol type names like that, but it would undoubtedly work to my advantage. Just about every single sucker in the Capitol was, well, a sucker. Any sob story I fed them would do down completely in my favor; I'd have them crying at my feet in seconds.

"It's all right little ones," I soothed, rubbing my baby bump as I felt the babies- Clarence and Clare- start up another kicking fiasco, which had me convinced that they were having a competition on who could bruise Mummy the most.

As soon as Clarence and Clare were lulled back into their rest, well, I wasn't a doctor or anything, so I supposed they were resting, I returned back to my planning. Having covered my ways to obtain sponsors in my interview, I'd best also smile and wave at all of the Capitol people. Looking into the mirror, I contracted my face into something akin to happiness, but the worry lurking in the eyes easily seen. Good; they'd no doubt think I was worried for my babies, which I am, but this should also help out with the sympathy card. Still, most of the Tributes in the arena wouldn't think twice about killing me, pregnant or not, in order to preserve their own skins. What I needed was an ally who could provide protection for me, yet also gullible enough so I could dispose of them when I was finished. Whenever Cosma managed to track down our Mentors, they had better show up the footage of the Reapings and not the second rate commenters addition. I mean, please, who really cares about what those uptight people in their ridiculous clothing have to say? I'm from District Eight, the textile District, and even I don't like their fashions! Also, it's not like they'd ever been in a situation close to the Hunger Games, so what do they know? Passion, that's what really determines the winner; the passion to kill and the passion to live. Certainly, Clarence and Clare would provide passion enough for me.

"Abe! Willa! Dexie and Gelle are waiting for you!" Cosma voice chirped, coming out of a circular panel that she had hooked up her microphone to; it was the same one she had read my name from at the Reaping.

Muttering something not all too kind about the stereotypical bubbly Escort, I hobbled my way out of my room and towards the dining room. The glass on my windows shot back an image of my reflection at me, and I paused ever so slightly to examine it. Molli, a good friend of mine who took me in when my parent's kicked me out and left me with nothing, had loaned me a pink cotton dress just for the Reaping. Thankfully, the material of it was stretchy, allowing me to breathe, not caring if people saw the protruding bump that would be growing larger no doubt. My shoes were the same one's I always wore, worn brown ones, which just happened to be one of the few items I had thrown into my sack the night I had been forced to flee. Not wanting to dwell on those memories any more, my face creased into a frown, drawing my attention towards the endless amount of freckles covering me.

"Willa!" Cosma screeched, drawing my attention as she marched over to me angrily, "Stop looking at yourself and go meet your Mentors!"

Already wearing the mask I'd chosen earlier, I replied, "Al-All right…Just a bit shaken up, you know," a tear slipped down my cheek, another testament to my acting skills, "Worried about little Clare and Clarence…They my babies, miss, they my precious little angels!"

Exactly as I planned, more tears fell from my eyes, fake, and turned the reproachful look of Cosma to one of pity. Already, I had one over my Escort, leaving me with only three more people to do the same to on this train, a warm up of sorts for when I'd finally arrive at the Capitol. Furthering the effect, pulling out my token- a baby rattle- and cradling it to my chest caused Cosma to whisper soothingly to me, pulling me into a hug. While I knew the intention of it was to provide warmth, it felt icy and hollow, the same way the hearts of the Capitol citizens really were, as their grief over my possible death would only be brief, and perhaps not at all. Think about it, they had once loved Miss Katniss Everdeen, so surely they shouldn't have cheered when she died? Wrong, I suppose, since they did exactly that.

"What kind of mother would I be if I can't protect my babies? My only kin?" I questioned, walking slowly towards the dining table with Cosma.

Stifling the fake tears, my next moment was spent taking in the form of Abe, my District Partner for the Games, even if there really was no partnership between us. Being four years the elder of Abe, it was to be expected that I towered over him, looking in better shape than him, probably from the healthy glow that motherhood tends to bring to a person. Abe's hair was short, black as the night, a typical cut of the boys in our "humble" District, despite how just about each person wanted to become a stylist for the Capitol. My parents had wanted me to be like that as well; they wanted me to be prim and proper, a daughter they could marry off to the son of Mr. Jamison, who owned the largest textile factory in the District. Yet the only thing they succeeded in was creating a rebellion nature from me, which I suppose was the reason I ended up in this vast and complicated predicament. Brown eyes, which were the last thing I noted about Abe, dismissing my attention from the silent Tribute like one looks from one piece of grass to the other.

_Abe Mercer (14), District Eight Male-POV_

It seemed to take Cosma forever to bring Willa out of her room, and in the process, she had caused her to start crying as well. Oddly enough, this wasn't exactly what I had expected of her, as both of us wore determined expressions when we had been selected for the Third Quarter Quell. Glancing down at my clothing, a frown graced my face upon seeing the average blue jeans and nice shirt, a typical Reaping outfit. In other Districts, this would have been considered fine, but here in District Eight, just about each kid had their own flair to things. Looking over at Willa, who must have been eighteen years old, her long blonde hair appeared to be the only interesting thing about her ensemble, so I suppose the sponsors shouldn't judge me all too harshly on that.

"Well, we already know who you are," Gelle started.

Dexie finished for her, "But I'm sure you'd like to know who we are."

Willa sniffled, mumbling a request, tagged with a please on the end. Merely, I nodded at the Mentors, taking in their appearances. Both of them wore dresses, with Gelle's being a lovely forest green, hugging her curves and covering up any lumps and bumps she had. While Dexie, or Dex as she preferred, wore a beautiful black number, covered with white roses, which made me think of another President of Panem- President Snow, the one who let our country unravel right before his very eyes. Each of the female Mentors had startling green eyes, Gelle having dyed brown hair, and Dexie keeping her natural soot color.

"I am Gelle McDoe," Gelle stated, smiling at both of us, "As you both know, I'm sure, I am the Victor of the One Hundred and Sixty Eighth Hunger Games at the age of eighteen. I'll be working with you, Willa, sweetheart."

My District Partner smiled brightly, the same look of concern swimming in her eyes as always, "I'm so honored, miss. I-I just can't believe I'm wo-working with you," Willa bit back tears, "I'm such a big fan of y'all!"

Gelle grinned at her, placing a well manicured hand on Willa's shoulder, "I know, sweetheart, I know. I'm sure we'll have such a pleasant and meaningful time together."

Part of me wondered how Gelle could be so quiet, so cheerful and so innocent all at one time. Maybe it had something to do with when she won the Hunger Games, though the details of it all are a bit fuzzy, as I was only seven years old at the time. Trina, my older sister, would have known, since she always was at the top of the class in school. If there hadn't been the Districts, or if you had been allowed to move, everyone would have sent her over to District Three in a heartbeat. Or better yet, over to the Capitol so she'd be the new President of Panem, and maybe even get rid of the Hunger Games. Losing my train of thought, I looked over at Dexie, whose expression clearly stated that she felt it was her turn to talk.

"And I'm Dexie Laurel. You all can call me Dex, if you like…I'm the Victor of the One Hundred and Thirty Second Hunger Games…'suppose you all want to know how old I was? Well…," Dexie paused, obviously liking to draw attention to her, "I was fifteen years old. No one thought I'd win, too, and I reckon they were mighty surprised when I did!"

She looked at us expectantly, but I'd always been more of the strong and silent type, so I held my peace. Willa, she grimaced a bit, rubbing her swollen stomach, muttering something about people named Clare and Clarence. That must have been the names of her baby, I mean, babies, since the only person named Clarence that I knew was Clarence O'Hallen, the well known host of the interviews since before Dexie's Hunger Games. Clarence O'Hallen, or Clark Hallen as most people called him, never appeared to age a bit, just like most of the Capitol people. Occasionally, I wondered what kind of drug they used to do that, but since it's likely I'll never know, even likelier now, I tried to push it out of my mind each time that it came up.

Silence developed over the table, broken by Cosma, "You guys ready to watch the Reapings! I've got them recorded here just for you two!" she glanced at Willa and me, "I expect to hear an answer."

Sighing a bit, I mumbled, "Yes," in unison with Willa, hating that I had been forced to speak out loud. Earlier, I had tried to avoid doing what Cosma had asked, but I learned that lesson the hard way, a slight fear for our wacky Escort slowly developing in my mind. Ironically, part of me couldn't wait for the Hunger Games to start, as it'd be a way to ensure that I wouldn't ever have to be near Cosma again, whom bustled her way over to the television set, turning it on. The Capitol seal appeared, followed quickly with the words, "DISTRICT ONE," in metallic print.

Cashmere Combe, a pretty girl with curious gold eyes, had her name called out by the District One Escort. Upon making her way to the stage, a dozen girls must have been trying to Volunteer for her, yet she dismissed them all. Cashmere looked strong to me, beautiful even in a black feather dress that most of the girls, if not all, in District Eight would have died for. Morbidly, I thought that some of them must have, since people in District Eight sometimes got input on what they'd be wearing during their session with Clark Hallen, which is if their stylist was nice. The boy joining Cashmere in the Hunger Games was Griffin Holloway, a Volunteer, who was tall and muscular, a common trait among the Career Males. His hair was pitch black, even darker than mine, and hazel eyes. Griffin and Cashmere each appeared to be very confident, causing a small seed of worry to grow in my stomach, which wouldn't be snuffed out until I had the chance to see each and every Tribute I'd be facing in the arena.

As always, District Two is shown next, with Leah Dagger Volunteering as the female Tribute. Wearing a green fitted top with a pretty skirt, Leah was easy on the eyes, and would probably work that to her advantage when trying to receive sponsors. Disturbingly, all I could think of was her last name, Dagger, and how easily it was to picture her brutally murdering me with that weapon. Thankfully, Jackson Leo Ross, another Volunteer, joined her up on the stage soon, banishing those dark thoughts from my mind temporarily. Jackson had copper hair, messy and short, another thing that I couldn't help but think his stylists would be enjoying working with. I couldn't take in much more about him, as his eyes held a red tint to them, reminding me of blood lust in a sleeping beast. Needless to say, I was quite glad when District Three's Reaping appeared on the screen, keeping the image of the four Careers far away from me, for now, that is.

I'm taken a bit aback, same with the others on the Tribute train, when an awful looking girl, Malaya Finaca, Volunteers for the Hunger Games. The first thought to run through my mind is that she must be deranged or moronic, possibly a combination of both, to have a want of being the Hunger Games. The Escort agrees with me, as he actually questions her on it, finally giving in and accepting her as a Tribute in the Third Quarter Quell, allowing her to represent the technology District. When Jitz Low goes up to the stage, a quiet sense of relief fills me, as an average looking Tribute is Reaped from District Three. The only thing I really remember about him is his look of disgust for the world when his name is called, suggesting that he's a bit of a downer; can't blame him, both of us are going to be dead soon enough.

Curiously, a disabled girl named Fialla Howards Volunteers from District Four. She's pretty cute, I must admit, even if she doesn't look like she'll make it very far in the Games, or even be allowed into the Career pack. Yet for some reason, the blushing girl on the stage gives me the impression that she won't be just another Tribute; I'll keep a close eye on her. When the male Tribute from District Four is selected, no surprise, another Volunteer, I keep myself from shuddering. Nicolas Riddle is his name, and it's hard to believe that he hasn't been training for the Hunger Games. His eyes are an odd green color, my favorite color, and they horrifyingly seem to be filled with the shadows of pure evil. While I didn't expect this, I feel bad for Fialla Howards, having to be on the Tribute train with a Career monster; she looks like such a sweet little thing to me.

The Reaping for District Five is, predictably, shown next on the tape. Reina Vane, a short and skinny young girl, is selected as the female Tribute. Her flaming red hair, curly and long, is the first thing that catches my attention, along with her pretty freckles. But it doesn't claim my interest all too long, as I'm soon examining the large amount of bruises and scrapes covering here. What could she have been doing in District Five that could result in that? When I came to the only answer, I instantly didn't like it, considering trying to extend a hand to her in the arena, though the urge to quickly fades as Elezar Brewen Volunteers. Once again, I don't know why he'd want to, though he is quite bony, so maybe he wanted the extra food? Looking over him again, his blonde hair on the long side in male haircuts, I'm unable to come up with any other reason, as not a flicker of familiarity towards Reina or Windos appears.

By the time Maya Eberhart is called up for District Six, the Capitol people would have surely been getting bored, as even I am feeling slightly impatient. Her skin is tan, peculiar since her hair is a long and light blonde, matched with soft gray eyes. Maya comes off as very pretty, and some people, which I assume are her siblings, had to help her up to the stage. In my mind, I've already written her off to die in the Bloodbath, even though I'm sure she's not the weakest Tribute in the Hunger Games. Cassius Lisette, her District Partner, comes off as a bit funny, even cracking a smile when his name is called. From the cameras I can't tell if it's one of happiness or defeat, but for normality's sake I do hope it's the latter.

_Willa Hellmans (18), District Eight Female-POV_

The entire time the tape has been playing I've been looking for potential allies. For a second, I thought that I'd be able to swindle the two from District Five, but when the District Seven Reaping finishes, I know I've found my suckers. Juniper Griffin and Axel Treefall, the two people whom I'd wheedle my way into their good graces, since it's clear that Axel has some sort of positive connection to Juniper. And from first impressions, I've already pegged her down as the helpful sort of person, so it shouldn't be all too hard to convince them to ally with me. And once I've gotten far enough in the Games, all I'd have to do is put Nighlock juice in their water battle, making sure it wasn't a clear container, and I'd be two steps closer to coming home to District Eight. Yes, the entire plan formed in my head quite nicely, and it didn't even matter much if the two lovebirds didn't go back to the land of trees. After all, they'd get to be with each other in the afterlife, wouldn't they?

I miss watching Abe and I being called up to the stage, too busy in my plotting, but I'm sure it won't matter at all. I'll have plenty of time to watch these tapes again when I'm raising Clare and Clarence in the gorgeous house located in Victors Village. Winning the Hunger Games, what's not to like?

_Abe Mercer (14), District Eight Male-POV_

Ebon Furial, a twelve year old, is Reaped from District Nine. While it's always unfair when a twelve year old is Reaped, it's even worse because it's Ebon. All of us can tell he's from the orphanage, and even more so, he doesn't have a clue at all towards what's going on. Everyone feels bad for the short curly haired boy, who tripped on his way to the stage, accidently mooning the entire country of Panem. And to make it worse, Ebon was smiling as he waved out at the crowd, a contrast to the reaction of his partner, Cedar Tremaine. The female Tribute had fallen to the ground crying, even having to be carried up to the stage by the Peacekeepers. Not much else I remember about Cedar, with the exception that her dark brown hair covered her face for the rest of the clip. Sorrow is all I feel for the Tributes of District Nine, since almost no one would want to sponsor them after _that_.

_"And now we head to District Ten!"_ the same, almost robotic voice, announces again annoyingly.

The girl Tribute for this District is named Wednesday, Wednesday Vespers. Tears are welling up in the teal-gray eyes of the twelve year old girl, who only starts to walk after a minute has gone by. A hand reaches out to stop her, belonging to an older girl, who even announces that she Volunteers for the Games. Surprisingly, Wednesday wipes away her tears, denying the girl in her attempts and stands by the escort on the stage. Small and weak, with long dark red hair, I again wonder why she chose to be in the Hunger Games, when someone had offered her a chance of escape from this peril. Ether Lessing is chosen to join her in the Hunger Games, looking similar to Wednesday with wispy ginger hair. Fear is evident on his face when his name is called, also pausing a bit before making his name to the stage. Sadly, it's likely that District Ten will not have a Victor this year, unless one of them is akin to Cypress Junos, the scary little girl from District Seven who managed to win the Hunger Games.

From District Eleven, Tetra Comn is the female Tribute. An odd look is found in her blue eyes, probably suggesting some type of insanity, which is even more likely as she happened to be a Volunteer. Worry grows in me again, as an awfully large number of the Tributes in this year's Games chose to be there, not forced against their will like most years. Tetra's face is framed with black hair, the last thing I note about her before drawing my attention to her District Partner is that she's quite skinny; something I've always wondered about since District Eleven grows food for Panem. Persei Baxwoll is his name; a fourteen year old, with dark skin and extremely tiny in size, so much I thought he was a twelve year old standing in the wrong group for a moment. The male Tribute has curly hair, and when his name is called, Persei wears a tough mask, walking calmly to the stage. By the time it's moving on to District Twelve, I know to watch out for the Tributes from Eleven.

Comically, the last name of the District Twelve Tribute brings to mind the first Hunger Games that Katniss Everdeen competed in. While we don't learn all too much about her, they do tell us that she and Peeta Mellark almost killed themselves with Nighlock berries. Her name is Rocky Nightlock; a skinny girl, looking unusual for someone from District Twelve, as she's not fair or dark. Rocky's hair is brown, accented with flecks of red, or it might have been gold, which seemed to catch the light in a stunning way. Hazel eyes, big and innocent, combined with the hair and her slim figure makes Rocky eye-catching, even if she started quivering when her name was called. District Twelve's male Tribute is named Josh Quick, who looks typical of their merchant class, crying when his name is called out. There isn't all too much for me to say about him, with the exception that I don't think he'd last all too long in the Hunger Games.

Lastly, District Thirteen's Reaping is shown, the last one this year in the country of Panem. A Swedish blonde, Adia Loya, becomes the female Tribute for her District in the Third Quarter Quell. Adia looks extremely pretty, someone easy to fall in love with, and her round light blue eyes seem sparkling. Instantly, anger arises in me that this girl could be Reaped, but just as it did with the others, it quickly vanishes. When they called her name, she musn't of heard them, as they had to repeat it. Yet Adia then marches up to the stage, smiling out at the crowd; she'll do fine with the sponsors. And the final Tribute in the Hunger Games is Jet, well, Jet Newton. In each of the Districts, they have a last name they give to their children if they can't remember it, and Newton just happens to be the one used in District Thirteen. Jet's dark haired, tall, and could be thought of as handsome, making me wonder what stories are lingering behind his mischievous eyes. Upon walking up to the stage, Jet wore his head down, as if worried someone would recognize him.

"Well, that's it!" Cosma sang, jerking us all away from the screen, "Next, to the Capitol!"


	9. District Nine Arrival

_Ebon Furial (12), District Nine Male-POV_

I knew I was dreaming, but it didn't really matter, since Emeryus was there. He's my best friend at the orphanage, the only friend I have really, and we like to call ourselves family sometimes. The worst thing about this Hunger Games thingy, which I'm still not all too sure on the details on, is that they said I probably wouldn't get to see him ever again. When they told me that, tears started pouring from my eyes, though I kept on smiling. If I was smiling, then other people wouldn't be sad, too, and maybe I might not be sad anymore. Plus, people appeared to be happy when I joked around in the Justice Building, so they'd be all right, right?

Anyways, in my dream I was back at the Orphanage in District Nine. This seemed awfully familiar to me, and I knew just what was going to happen when my best friend, looking almost identical to me except he had blonde hair, handed me a small orange pebble. The horrible thing is that I woke up right before he could hand it to me, jolting myself into the reality of the slightly noisy train. Bending over me, a really pretty lady, named Sophaphina, was shaking my shoulder gently. And when I say really pretty, I mean really pretty; Sophaphina had curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, and ruby red lipstick, combined with a spotless white gown.

"Wake up, sweetie," Sophaphina soothed, "We've got a big, big day at the Capitol!"

Sitting up in my bed, the covers shifted underneath me. Glancing into the mirror, my curly hair looked even messier than usual, probably because I had just slept longer than I would have been allowed to back home. Also, they had some sort of all you can eat buffet! It's almost better than that tesserae stuff they let me get for free! Some of the older kids tried to tell me you had to pay for it, but they couldn't tell me exactly what I'd have to pay. Well, I suppose I'll be finding out soon enough.

"What are we doing in the Capitol, Miss?" I asked curiously.

Sophaphina's smile faded for a second, "You don't really know…," the lady, my Escort I think, sat down on the bed, "Well…You understand what the Hunger Games is, right? You watched it with the other kids?"

Straining my memory, I did remember how sometimes everyone would crowd around the screens. However, Emeryus and I didn't do that, since no one was playing with the toy dinosaurs at that time. You see, we love the toy dinosaurs, and most of the time, the older kids have already taken them. So yeah, why would we watch television when we could play with dinosaurs? Really, it seemed like a no brainer to me, and this lady should understand that. And if she didn't, then Chrissie, a fourteen year old in the Orphanage, was right about the Capitol; they're all a bunch of morons. Though, the Capitol people look pretty nice to me! They've already given me tons of free stuff!

"Yeah," I answered, trying to think of a game to play with my friendship pebble, "Miss Sandes said that they took twenty six kids and we had to fight in a weird place called the…the arena. And we gotta dress up and stuff before we do it because the Capitol thinks we're cute and cuddly…no…cute and pretty? Yeah, cute and pretty."

Sophaphina muttered something, then nodding and smiling brightly at me, "Well, I hope you gave Miss Sandes a big, big thank you! She's absolutely right!" the pretty lady pinched my cheeks, which a lot of people do, "Today, we're going to dress you up! And then you're going to be in a grand parade! Would you like that, Ebon?"

A big parade? Oh! I think I knew what those looked like! Some weird kids sat in these cart things that were pulled by these really, really pretty horses. Horses were almost as cool as dinosaurs, except I don't think that they breathe fire or anything. When I play with dinosaurs, they can breathe fire, fly, and juggle all at the same time! It's really cool, and if you hadn't done it, then you surely haven't lived. Which, I guess, it means it's okay that I'm going into the arena thingy, since I've already lived by playing with the dinosaurs! Hopefully Emeryus takes good care of them and doesn't let the really little kids slobber all over them, as I'm sure the dinosaurs wouldn't like that. If I were a toy, I know I wouldn't like it if whiney little kids shoved me in their mouths all day long.

"Yeah!" I replied, my eyes wide with excitement, "I love the parade! It's my favorite show that they put on the television every year! My favorite part is the horses! I love the horses!"

"You know what, Ebon? I'll make you a deal: I'll let you ride the horses during the parade! You like that?"

"Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Of course I would, Miss!" I squealed, wiggling and jumping on the bed.

She smiled prettily at me, "Then get washed up! Shower's in there! And meet me and the others for breakfast out in the dining area, sweetie!" she exclaimed, brushing her hair over her shoulder and exiting my room.

Right now, I really wanted to make Sophaphina happy, so I bounced off of my bed. Following her directions, the way to the shower was quickly found. Stripping my clothes on the floor, the nice fuzzy pajamas I found in the dresser last night, I looked at the shower in awe. There must have been a hundred, no, a thousand, no, a million buttons on it!

"Wow," I whispered, hopping into the pearly tub immediately, "This place has everything!"

Pulling on random knobs and buttons, trying to use each one in turn, so none of them would feel left out. Out of the nozzle thing came a steamy jet of water, apple scented too, which made me jump when it hit me. As soon as I had gotten used to the temperature of it, a sudsy liquid plopped all over me, smelling like cinnamon; I hated cinnamon. Frowning a bit, not wanting to yell at the nice Capitol people, I tried to the best I could to scrub it off of me, but only more seemed to be coming out.

"What do I what do I do what do I do?" I mumbled, panicked, as I pressed a whole other row of buttons.

Sadly enough, it only seemed to increase the amount of cinnamon stuff, mixed in with a slight whiff of cherry soap. By the time my entire body was covered in it, and I was sneezing like mad, since cinnamon always did that kind of thing to me, I remembered all about the nozzle. Looking up at it, I might have been able to jump up and grab it, just like we had to do at the Orphanage. Motivating myself with the encouragement of an invisible friend, my legs sprung up, and I managed to grab the shower nozzle. However, that didn't guarantee that I'd be able to come back down, so I ended up dangling, a good five feet off of the ground. But I didn't mind it, since the sudsy stuff had been eradicated from me in the process, my dark skin looking inflamed from the shower water.

"Uhh…Miss?" I called out, hoping that Sophaphina was still out there, waiting, "I'm gonna need some help…I think I'm…stuck…"

_Cedar Tremaine (14), District Nine Female-POV_

Taking in deep breaths, my beating heartbeat finally slowed down to one that was normal. I've always been a bit paranoid, not nearly as bad as people said though. And for most of the night, I'd been able to convince myself that the train was going to crash, making me die sooner than I would have liked. Those same types of thoughts had sprouted from the Reaping, where the Peacekeepers had made me stand up, since I'd fallen to the ground in tears. Sophaphina, the sweet natured Escort, had already come in to check on me, only to find that I had not received a single wink of sleep at night. She just sighed, and said I might be able to sleep while they were doing my makeup in Remake center. Timidly, nodding in reply, Sophaphina left to wake up Ebon.

I shrieked, hearing a loud thud come from Ebon's room, "WE'RE GOING TO DIE!"

Crawling under the bed, I curled into a ball, rocking myself back and forth. We were going to die; I knew it, but all so soon? There must have been some kind of murderer on the train with us, probably from the Capitol, too. How could the Mockingjay have lived with herself, knowing that they people either wanted to kiss her, kill her, or be her? If I was Katniss Everdeen, no one would have ever heard my name, as I certainly wouldn't have Volunteered for this horror. Even if I had a little sister, of if my brother Corvus had been a girl, I don't think I would have wanted to take their place. Yes, I loved my family, but I must admit I'm a bit of a coward; at least I'm not the only one, though, as Ebon looked like he had a brother.

"That was fun! It hurt, but fun!" Ebon's voice came from down the hall, followed by Sophaphina scolding him.

Hesitantly, I peeked out from underneath the bed, in case it was some kind of ploy. It must have been the jabberjays, I concluded, making me think that everything was all right. But those foolish jabberjays wouldn't be getting the best of me, sliding back underneath the bed once more. Whoever was trying to kill me right now wouldn't be getting away from it, not in the arena either, as paranoia is a healthy thing, when taken in small doses. There was no questioning in my mind that I wasn't doing the exactly right thin, even as the jabberjays started up again.

"Cedar! Cedar! Get out here right now!" the jabberjays screeched, sounding like Sophaphina.

Part me of felt like it might have been her, but it wasn't, it was the jabberjays just trying to trick me. They must have remembered the sound of Sophaphina's shoes click clacking on the floor, recreating it perfectly down to the smallest details. Whoever it was probably wouldn't see my brown eyes, filled with nervousness, as I peeked out from under the bed. Two six inch heels stood in the doorway of the room; curiously, suds seemed to cover a bit of the hairless ankle. It might have been Sophaphina, but still, I could not deny the high likely hood, in my mind, of it being a trap. The only way to know for sure is if the person walked in here themselves, and then, and only then, would I be positive or doubting my initial reaction.

"There you are!" Sophaphina exclaimed, relieved I allowed myself to be dragged out from under the bed.

Never before had I been so glad to see someone, and lagging behind her, Ebon grinned up at me. His hair looked extremely unkempt, a bit soapy, which probably explained the banging noise that had frightened me half to death. The side of his face appeared to be swelling, a dark hint of a bruise, which hopefully wouldn't bother him all too long. We'd be in the arena soon enough, and that wouldn't help him in the slightest; it would only hinder him. Nervously, I wondered if the cruel girl- Leah Dagger- would be using that to her advantage in the arena. All I really wanted was to ensure I wouldn't have to face the dreaded Careers, as fear pumps through my veins at the very mentioning of their name.

"Ye-yeah. Here I am…," I stuttered, trying to seem confident, though my acting skills were lacking, "Breakfast now, right?"

Sophaphina was about to answer, when Ebon leaped forward, "Yep! And then to the Capitol!"

Timidly, I nodded, walking over the mirror. I had an average face, one which I won't bother to describe again. Raking my fingers through it, a part in the brown locks was somehow made, just enough that it wouldn't look all too bad for the cameras. Even now, a sort of haunted look was clearly evident in my eyes, yet when I smiled, it seemed to vanish and just fall away, replaced with heavenly warmth. Peradventure I'd act giggly, happy really, in my interview, and just pretend to be someone that I wasn't. After all, it's better to pretend then for it to actually happen.

Ebon and Sophaphina walked out of my room, allowing me privacy to change out of my nightgown. A cotton blouse, a light pretty blue color, was the very first thing I stumbled upon the mahogany drawers. At that thought, an old joke about a lady named Effie Trinket came to mind, causing the smallest of smiles to grace my nervous looking face. It was a rather overused one, originating in the Seventy Sixth Hunger Games, so I won't bother to mention it. Partnering the top with denim jeans, the only material they seem to make jeans out of, I walked out of my room, heading towards the dining area. Thankfully, District Nine had two Mentors, one for Ebon, and one for me. Some of the Districts only had one, and I believe that District Six, and perhaps another, didn't have a Mentor at all. Maybe they were worse off than I was, I thought, though dismissed it quickly as with my luck, I'll be killed in the Bloodbath.

The Mentor who'd be working with me was a proud yet sweet lady named Clo. She had wispy brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and strong arms, no doubt from helping her cousins out daily. Here in District Nine, the Grain District, it usually takes an entire team of people to get the crops collected; no doubt my family would be feeling my absence soon enough. Not for a second did I wonder why Clo didn't just give her cousins some of the spoils of winning the Hunger Games; since it wasn't the type of thing you ask your last hope of living. And Ebon's Mentor, a strong and silent chap, was named Davie, after some famous pioneer from ages ago. It didn't make much sense to me, as that name seems to be more suiting for someone in District Ten, yet I, once again, held my tongue.

"Sit, sit!" Sophaphina, actually, Sophaphina Malone beckoned, "We'll be there in just fifteen precious minutes!"

Not arguing with her, my place at the table was soon filled with a large assortment of what they called pastries. Biting into a yellow covered one, a sensation of the coolest lemon soon filled my mouth. The Capitol people must be living wonderful lives, I concluded, how could they not? Though, as soon as I finished that thought, I hastily dropped the pastry. What if someone had poisoned it? What if, what if it had been Ebon, his cuteness merely being an act to get my guard down? Hopefully I hadn't bitten into the poison, as I'd be a goner for sure if I had done that.

"Hey Cedar!" Ebon chirped, causing me to shake violently, the plate clattering to the ground and splitting in two, "The funny people are looking at us!"

"G-G-Good to know," I replied, making no intention of leaving my seat until I could claim Ebon innocent of his possible crime.

Just as he had said, an entire crowd had gathered outside, cheering and waving. Only I remained out of their view, leaving only Ebon to fulfill their sadistic desires.


	10. District Ten Arrival

_Ether Lessing (13), District Ten Male-POV_

Dreaming, it's one of the best things in the world, and it's completely natural. The people in the Capitol could never understand that; they probably have to go and buy their dreams. It's the same way they get everything else they want; money, the paper printed green stuff that causes them to run at leaps and bounds. Of course, it's not like they could actually do that, maybe part of the reason they invented the Hunger Games; a way to get us to do the work for them. Anyways, in my dream my two little sisters are here, chubby and adorable as always. Medea looks glum, while Halo looks a bit sad, probably because it's their first year at the Reaping. Even though they're really six years old, they're suddenly twelve years old, but I don't mind, because you can shove reason on the window in a dream.

_"Hey, hey, hey!" _I see myself say, _"Why the glum faces? I think pigs look better…don't you?" _

My little sisters squeal with delight, even more so when I contort my face to look like a pig. Naturally, I add in some sound effects as well, before stopping and tickling each of them as much as I can. Halo falls to the ground, pleading with me to stop, her blonde curls splayed out against the grass. But Medea held her ground, causing me to only tickle her harder, and soon enough she too was at my mercy. Grinning at the twins, I scooped both of them up, running over to the river to dunk them in.

Yet it was then that I realized I wouldn't be alive in six years time, so the merriness of the dream faded away from the cold slap of reality. Opening my eyes, the grassy hills near my home wasn't present; instead, the plain and simple wall of the train greeted me, painted an ugly red color. Plastered onto them were pictures of previous Victors of the Hunger Games, each pair of eyes boring into mine. Some of them were smiling broadly, no doubt the Careers, while others looked sullen and sinister. It took me a bit, but I eventually saw the face of Cassie Shears, a sixteen year old girl from District Ten. Her expression was blank, but a little spark in her eye told me that she was glad to come home. I could probably ask her, as she was my Mentor, and that's what Mentors are for, right? It's not like the Capitol makes them watch year after year to remind them that they can't save us…even if they can't…

"Come on, Ether," I told myself in a squeaky voice, my own take on the Capitol accent, "We got a big, big day! So big it's going to crush you but you're going to like it! Yaaaaaaay!"

Laughing a bit, I mimicked the voice of my Mentor, Cassie, as if she was replying to our silly Escort, "Yeah, go, kid! You better go get ready…or I'll crush you myself!"

For the next five minutes, my room was filled with the sounds of laughter. All of my nervousness seemed to slip away, and for once, I didn't feel timid in my own life. Right now, a new found confidence erupted, but hopefully, it wouldn't leave whenever someone came into the room. Besides, this should be good practice for the interviews, right? Sticking my left hand on my hip and leaving my right hand hanging out, I put on a prissy voice, now pretending to be the stylist I thought I'd get. Sure, there's probably cameras watching me, but that's only to make sure I don't try and escape from going into the Hunger Games. No one will mind if I act like a big goofball right now, not even odd little Wednesday. Though, I probably shouldn't call her little, since I'm only one year her elder. She even looked a bit like Medea, which is probably why, but pushing those thoughts out of my mind, I continued my imitations as I walked into the shower.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, here is District Ten's newest Victor: Ether Lessing!" I said, my voice not as confident, some of the words getting stuck onto my tongue.

Washing away the grime and muck that came from working in District Ten, it must have taken at least an hour to do so. Luckily, the chipper Escort hasn't come around for the wakeup call yet, so I should have plenty of time still. The shampoo made my hair smell like something they called kiwi, which I've never seen nor heard of before. It must have tasted good, since my hair certainly did, and I even briefly thought of nibbling a bit on one of my darkened bangs. I've always been bad at making quick decisions, so I wrestled with those thoughts for at least another ten minutes, finally laying them to rest. The stylist, who I hoped wasn't anything like the stereo type, wouldn't really appreciate it if I had bitten my hair. Who wants to work with a Tribute who looked like their Escort had a mental breakdown, then deciding to take it out of them? That's right, only a crazy person would…Gosh, I hope my stylist isn't crazy; crazy people should not be allowed to have scissors. It was practically the forgotten commandment.

"Thou Shalt Not Havith Scissors If Thine Tis Cray-Cray," I bellowed out in a deep voice, shutting off the shower water in a bit, "Thine Shalt Have Spoons, Peradventure!"

My only audience, the tissue box, trembled in fear and promptly fell into the toilet. The splash, in my head, was deafening, repeated over and over again. Snickering a bit, our Escort would have been enraged, going wild, if she had seen what just happened. But of course, she never would, as I had no intention of saying, "Hey, hey! Come see what I did in the bathroom!" since that was just a little too childish for me. The Avoxes might see it, but hey, it should help spice up their day. It's not really like they could talk to each other…Maybe they use some form of Morse code? Picturing that for a moment, I dismissed the idea, as I've never actually seen or hear Avoxes tapping to each other.

"Ether! Ether, love? We're almost at the Capitol!" the Escort chimed, knocking briefly on the door before quickly moving off.

It was best to get this show on the road, so I marched out of the bathroom and looked at my options for clothing. Pulling on a pair of camouflage pants, which reminded me of when I used to play Army with Dad, I placed the small wooden whistle in my pocket. It would be my token in the arena, as it belongs to my father, the same person who works two jobs to keep a roof over my head. I'd be forever grateful to him, and guilty; it was my job to take care of my sickly mother and two sisters. Yet now, now I'd never be able to do that job again, and that's when I did shed but a single tear.

_Wednesday Vespers (12), District Ten Female-POV_

Sitting in the darkness of my room, the tape of the Reapings is on loop. Looking at myself, I hear my name called out by our Escort for what must have been the fifteenth time today. My sister, well, I thought of her as a sister, since she was really my cousin, had tried to Volunteer for me. But I wouldn't let her go into the Games, for I had a bit of a secret. Normally, I looked at the screen with a blank look on my face, a perfected mask to keep my Aunt, Uncle, and two cousins from knowing what I was really thinking. People would never guess what I, small, weak, fragile Wednesday Vespers really was like; a monster. The Hunger Games were my favorite time of the year, bone chilling horror, extreme sadness and guilt; it was all up my alley. But there wasn't any way I could play this angle, resorting to the one of the weak and crying little twelve year old. But sometimes, sometimes I really am that way; I call her the Other Me. That person, that person would never last in the Hunger Games, and she almost ruined everything for me when I was Reaped.

"Wednesday," my Escort called, rapping on the door, "Breakfast is in ten minutes, okay?"

Not bothering to respond, I listened for the heavy footsteps to disappear, smiling slightly when they did. The Escort was too cheerful for my tastes, insisting on wanting to know why I hadn't allowed Melinda to take my place. Well, she'd have to ask the Other Me, the one that came out only every now and then. If there was a small place, a staggering height, or something that might cave in, the Other Me would take over for sure. No one else in the District was like this, I knew, and perhaps it might have been all in my head. But then again, what if it wasn't? What if I really was two people, trapped inside of one person, fighting over who got control? I felt the Other Me come out, my blank expression changing to one of fear.

Quickly, I had the lights on and the footage turned off. Feeling skittish, the run to the dresser was overestimated, resulting in me banging my head against the frame. Groaning as I stood up, soft trickles of tears fell from my teal-gray eyes. Right now, I was the weak little Wednesday Vespers, the one who should probably be in charge. Despite the chances that the Other Me would do better, selfishness filled me up, and I imagined a door, locked, as to effectively keep her out of my head. Trembling a bit now, she must have been extremely angered, not realizing that I would be able to play our angle the best. This whole thing gave me a headache sometimes, so I shoved the thoughts aside and ransacked the drawers for something to wear.

By the time I was done, the mirror stood ready for me to observe my reflection. While I didn't favor pink, I couldn't deny that it suited my coloring, looking nicely with my auburn hair and pale skin. A little white skirt, another thing that I almost barfed at upon finding, made me look even younger than I really was. Still, this whole thing was a Game, and I always did win my Games when I had a strategy in mind. My other cousin, Robyn, loved his Games as well, and had told me that he knew I'd win the Hunger Games easily. Out of all of my family, he was the only one who felt akin to the Other Me. Yet I wonder…I wonder which one really was me, and which one had sprouted from insanity.

"Hey there, little lassie! Did you sleep well?" Quint, my Mentor, greeted me as I walked into the dining area.

Quint was large and muscular, something that was typical of the men in District Ten. We were the livestock District, which meant that any kind of animal, we had to breed them. And wickedly, some people here even helped out the Capitol by breeding mutations stock, though they usually didn't last very long. My family was one of the five groups who breed, took care of, and trained the viscous attack dogs. Since my Aunt and Uncle were very well off, Melinda, Robyn, and got to keep one of the pups, which we named Gremlin. It was almost too funny to say, "Gremlin, stop eating poop," or, "Gremlin, bad boy, you don't sniff _that_ part of her!" Hopefully the President of Panem would never find out a bit, as it was almost too funny, even more so since our pup actually looked a tad bit like him. Our pup had matted snow white hair, dotted with dried patches of mud, and some spots on his face made it look like he had trouble shaving that morning. Yeah, I'd make sure to keep my yip shut about that when being asked questions about what life was like at home.

My Mentor also had shaggy black hair, not quite covering up the numerous scars. While the Capitol could take away your scars from the Games, Quint felt like they had become a part of him. And thus, he told them they weren't allowed to do so, a request that they respected, even if it had never ever been asked before. Because of this, Quint looked hard and stony, a creature of power and might, while his personality was quite the opposite. My mentor was more of the funny and cheerful type, a little bit like my District Partner, Ether, was. Not to mention, Quint's shoulders were broad, the Mentor standing at six feet and six inches.

"Yeah…," I said softly, smiling a bit at my Mentor.

This me had taken a liking to Quint, even if he coddled me a bit. Neither of us minded, though, since he did the same thing to Ether, even if he wasn't his Tribute. My District Partner and I looked almost like siblings; Ether was gravely skinny and had ginger hair, just like I did. Which the other Mentor, Cassie, had been quick to point out, almost as if she had been dying to comment on it since she had met the two of us. Piling up my plate with food, our Escort stood in front of us, getting ready to speak, but was cut off by the cries of the Capitol citizens. We had arrived in the Capitol; the Games would be starting soon enough.

"You two go wave and smile, even if it's fake," Cassie commanded quickly.

Obeying the Mentor, we plastered on huge smiles and waved out the windows. People whooped and cheered, one of them even writing, "DISTRICT TEN FOR THE WIN!" on a piece of cardboard. Several others copied his example, and no doubt, one of them would be a potential sponsor. District Ten may very well have a Victor this year, and I knew, from the bottom of my heart, that it was going to be me. And besides, who didn't love a ginger? My Other Me certainly didn't, but she was still ramming her way against my mental walls; I was Wednesday Vespers right now, not her.

Not her.


	11. District Eleven at Remake Center

_Tetra Comn (16), District Eleven Female-POV_

Right now, I decide that I feel like pretending that I am a bird. My favorite kind of bird, the Mockingjay, seemed like a pretty good idea to me. So, to the protests of my Escort, I clambered on over to the exit of the train. We'd been cooped up in here all too long, it was high time that I stretched out my wings and soared. Doing so, a little jump let me sail above the crowds of onlookers, and my spirit truly felt free. For centuries I could have stayed like this, away from the darkness in my past, but alas, it would not be so. The cold concrete ran up at me, embracing me cruelly as the Capitol citizens gasped in horror. Pain, I must have been bleeding, for the ground had turned to a dull red color, and I couldn't quite tell left from right.

My Mentor sighed, "Tetra…Come on, girl, and we've got lots to do today…"

Her name was Bess, I believe, and I really wish that I had gotten Jabber as my mentor. Jabber had stark white hair, paired with dark tan skin, making it looked like he was walking around with snow on his head. While it was never confirmed, we all knew his hair had used to be a chocolate brown, so people said that he had experimented with Morphling and Hot Chocolate at once. This didn't make any sense at all to me, most likely since I climbed my own trees, without company, during the harvest season. People said I didn't make sense either, so it might have had something to do with that as well. It didn't matter; I just thought I'd get along with Jabber better, as our personalities were identical right now.

Bess picked me up, holding me like a little baby. Cooing at her, just like a bird would, I couldn't help but wonder why she was rolling her eyes at me. Her eyes were a rich amber color, looking like candlelight or the soft embers of a dying fire. It complimented her dark skin perfectly, casting a healthy glow through her long locks of hair. Dark hair, smooth and sleek, was braided into two ponytails; Bess had been classified as a knockout when she had been a Tribute for her Hunger Games. Still, it must have been deceptive, as Bess wasn't the sweet and innocent person that they had thought. Instead, the other Tributes in the arena learned that lesson the hard way, and surprisingly, Bess held the record for most kills in the arena. Obviously, not many of the Careers liked that.

The Mentor carried me into Remake center, the flow of blood coming slowly to a stop. Did she like me, I wondered. I hoped that she did, as she seemed like a very nice person and I didn't have all too many friends back in District Eleven. There was only three people that I could call 'friend' and none of them appeared all too happy when I said that. Let me see…There was Walton, the star track runner at our school, who was very tall, almost seven feet! He looked kind of cute, but right now, all I could think about is birds. Birds, birds, birds; the most delightful thing in the entire country of Panem, no, in the entire world of…World! What did the world look like anyways? I hope it's not flat; it'd be awful if the world was flat. Why, you may ask? Simple, I think round things look better! A bird isn't flat, it's sort of round!

Finally, we walked inside of the cool and sterile building, where Bess left me in a strange room with three odd people looking me over. The first one, a man who looked like a kitty cat, was named Orion. I could practically see the question buzzing on his lips, wanting to know why this girl from District Eleven had decided to Volunteer for the Games. Deciding to let him toss and turn with it, I simply smiled and made more bird noises at them, which caused Orion to raise a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"Why are you kah-ing at me?" he asked in his pompous Capitol accent.

Pompous, hmm…I like that word. It's my new favorite word now, so no one else is allowed to use it. Not even Persei, though if I recall, people did seem to like him a lot. All right, he can use it all he wants, but no one else can. Not even my friends; you know, Walton, Era, and Lewi. They had no right to use that word, especially since they didn't come and visit me during my Goodbye time slots. Only the head caretaker at the Orphanage did, and it was to give me my token, a little stuffed teddy bear. I think I left it on the train, not too sure, I'll have to ask Mr. Sparkly-Pants, our Escort. He was very fun to talk to, Mr. Sparkly-Pants, but not nearly as much fun as Jabber. Jabber was the one who woke me up this morning, but I had already been talking to the birds, so it didn't matter all too much.

"Kah! Kah, kah, kah!" I chirped up at him, "I like to kah! Kah, kah, kah!"

The youngest girl in the Prep team, Siellamiane, rolled her eyes slightly. The look on her pale face was clear to everyone in the room; she had already marked me down as insane. When I was younger, people merely smiled and said cute things towards me, but they don't do that anymore. I don't understand why, as the only difference between six and sixteen is a number, and numbers don't matter. If numbers did matter, then the Hunger Games would never existed, as they wouldn't want their numbers of population to be decreased by twenty four, now twenty six people each year. But President Gremlin is nuts, I am not nuts, so it makes sense to me; it's only logical. All logical things make sense, so things that don't make sense aren't logical, so it only makes sense that numbers don't matter, as it wouldn't be logical if they did matter.

"Okay then…," Orion murmured, and then instructed me to strip down so they could see what they were working with.

Doing so, the Prep team instantly got to work, with only one comment that I had an unusual skin tone for my District. Frowning slightly, they must have seen that I was sensitive about it, wishing that I had the lovely brown color that Bess, Jabber, and Persei all had. I'd always been the odd one out, even before I was an Orphan, even before…No, now is not the time for bad thoughts, this is a happy place, so I must be happy too. If I wasn't happy, that would make other people unhappy, which never leads to good things. So I plastered a smile on my face, trying not to wince as they ripped and tore each little hair, that wasn't on my head, from my body. This must have been some sort of grand punishment, as they seemed all too excited to perform it on me.

"Right, now we're going to go get Amos!" Grenna, the last member of the Prep team, informed me.

"Kah!" I replied, "Kah, kah!"

Yes, it is fun to be a bird. I wish I could be like this more often. Yet I am sad, as my fez from my Reaping outfit is no doubt on the train, headed to people who don't like fezzes and will shoot it on the spot. Tears slipped out of my eyes, not because I Volunteered for my death, but because I will never see my little red fez again; I hope it's not lonely like I am.

_Persei Baxwoll (14), District Eleven Male-POV_

Guided into the Remake Center, Bess gave me a look. Clearly, she's hoping that I won't need any help finding my Prep team, as her hands are a bit full with my District Partner. Nodding back at her, cracking a grin, I can't help but wonder if they're going to take Tetra to the doctor or not. Everyone in the District knows about Tetra or Crazy Comn as we call her. If you're lucky, she doesn't think that you're her friend, but if you're not, well, Walton Briggs has been putting up with her since kindergarten. Not having met her before, the rumors seemed untrue, about how she had murdered her own parents, the reason she had to live in the Orphanage. But if that had been true, wouldn't she have gone to prison? Guess District Eleven really is messed up, not like I didn't already know that already.

"Hello, Persei!" a man with too many piercings greeted, "I'm DiDi and we're your very own…you guessed it…Prep team! Yay!"

Chuckling, "Nah, I thought you were the Gamemakers and this was the arena! …So we're fighting each other with shampoo, then? Fun!" I joked.

For some reason, this sent the entire Prep team on the floor with laughter. The sad thing about it was that it wasn't all too funny what I had just said, yet it had these Capitol citizens in hysterics. This should be in my favor, especially if every other person in the Capitol was exactly like them. Miri, my sister, would have loved being pampered by these people. I hate my sister, it's always, "Miri this," and, "Miri that," so everyone always forgets about me. Only my friends, Tiberius and Lianna, haven't forgotten about me, and even then I'm a third wheel sometimes. I don't mind that though, as long as I don't have to deal with Miss Popularity all day long…but I am glad that she never had to be in the Hunger Games.

"You know, I'd love to be a Gamemaker," ChiChi, a petite stylist with her black hair drawn up in a bun, gushed, "Wouldn't you, MiMi?"

"Oh yeah, I'd make the best arenas ever!" MiMi trilled, a head shorter than ChiChi with wicked pink curls.

The first thing I noticed about them was the pattern in their names; what was next, my stylist being named LeeLee? If that was the case, it would only prove my suspicion further, and then I'd only have to convince people to listen to the truth about those blasted Mockingjays. You see, everyone is really just here to make me settle down, that way I won't think anything is going to happen; in fact, Miri might even be in on it too, or even my own parents. Then when they finally have you thinking that nothing bad could happen to you, that you'll live forever in happiness, it happens. You get Reaped for the Hunger Games, a source of dread, death, terror, and glory in some cases. Well, if anyone says that's a load of garbage, all they need to do is look at the kids who _didn't _Volunteer for the Hunger Games. Evidently, the Prep team was in on the whole deal as well, luring me in before they can spring another trap. Well, that isn't going to happen this time, pals! You won't be getting the best of me!

"You're the best sister ever!" ChiChi squealed, pulling in MiMi for a hug.

DiDi rolled his eyes, and then removed each article of clothing from my body. My Reaping clothes, my red shirt and black dress pants, fell crumpled up to the floor, where they stayed without another second thought from DiDi. Miri had picked those out to me, I realized with a heavy heart, and now I wouldn't ever get to see her again. Right now, I kind of wished I had been nicer to her, that I hadn't said I hated her; I loved my sister. Maybe I'd be able to work it into my Interview someway, somehow, just to let her know before it's all too late.

They circled around me, noting my strong points with squeals and my, well, weak points with sighs. I've always been extremely scrawny and small for my age, almost smaller than some of the twelve year olds in our District. It didn't help that I was only fourteen years old either, which gave me an incredible disadvantage in the Hunger Games. If I win, then it would have to be rigged, as the Tributes from One and Two frighten me this year. The male from Four seems strong, but a little bit wimpy, just because of his District partner. That is, if you're looking at it from a sponsor's point of view, which I find I often do.

MiMi commented on my short hair, and from her viewpoint, it almost looked bald. Yeah, my hair is extremely short, a shade or two darker than my skin. The thing is that it's actually curly, but it's not like anyone but I would be able to know that. When I was younger, it was a full blown afro puff, but most of the kids had teased me, saying that a Mockingjay would nest in it. Even if they were cruel, they did have a point about the Mockingjays so I shaved almost all of it off, just to be safe. I've always hated the Mockingjays, which other people can't seem to understand why, no matter how many times that I explain it to them. Jabberjays have been disguised as Mockingjays by the Capitol, just going by a different name so we're all cozy around them, not thinking that they're recording each and every word I say. In my mind, that's why the rebellion failed, since the very symbol of it was one of the longest and most devious plots of the dreadful Capitol. If Katniss Everdeen was as clever as everyone said she was, tricking the female Tribute from District Five into taking her own life, then she should have known all about the Mockingjays.

Another thing that I know, and no one else understands, is that Katniss Everdeen, well, Katniss Mellark was working for the Capitol. Look at the evidence! She'd been picked to execute President Snow, but instead she shot the leader of the revolution! How come no one but me can see that? It's as obvious as can be. Hopefully I'll meet a Tribute with some sense to them, one that won't laugh at me like Tiberius and Lianna did when I voiced the truth on this matter. And ever since, and forever more, I'll never trust the Mockingjays.

"Well, let's get you cleaned up real quick!" ChiChi stated, pulling me over to a bath where I was assaulted with soap.

Hours later, my skin felt as if it was throbbing, as if it would fall off by a mere gust of wind. And for some reason, my stylist had felt the urge to take a coffee break, knowing that I'd be ready by now. This may have been another pivoting moment, just like the Reaping, in which the unexpected would become reality. Of course, one of my mottos is to expect the unexpected, and trust me; everything is expected in my mind. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if the corpse of Katniss Everdeen would be placed in the arena to scare the crap out of us. In fact, an odd feeling in my stomach told me that just that would be happening, and I best be prepared for when I came face to face with the Mockingjay.

_Arsenius Gremlin, President of Panem-POV_

Sitting in the oval office, the face of President Snow stared at me. Each of us looked terribly alike, almost like brother, yet I'm sure my smile was more sadistic then his. Fingering at the files my precious niece had sent me, I relaxed in the leather chair, sure that this year would not be a disappointment. Still, I remember all too clearly the Young Mockingjay, the exotic beauty whom I had slain. Pulling off my white gloves, the same ones that I had worn that very day, her blood still stained my ghostly skin.

"After all these years…," I murmured, "And yet you are still fighting this one last battle…How…ignorant of you, Miss Everdeen…"

Her blood, a fascinating red color, had intrigued me from the very moment it spilt from her, like juice from one of those sweets my son is so fond of. The very taste of it had heightened my every sense, prompting me to not allow those blundering fools that I ruled over to wash it off. Yet somehow, her blood seemed to be smiling up at me, waiting for something to strike me down. A chilling silence told me the news I didn't want to hear, the news that no President of the Capitol would _ever_ want to hear.

The Third Rebellion. Chaos, chaos will start again.

**So I'm creating a website for this story! Yay? Yay, I hope! If each of you could PM me who your Tribute looks like, I'll have the website up A.S.A.P! There was some foreshadowing in this chapter, and I thought it best that you finally got to hear a little bit more from the viewpoint of Gremlin. If you'd like to hear more from the Gremlins, say so in the review! Otherwise, you'll see the "beloved" President or the "cherished" Gamemaker whenever I feel like writing in a scene for them…Don't forget to review and PM me who your Tribute looks like! Thanks!**


	12. District Twelve at Remake Center

_Rocky Nightlock (14), District Twelve Female-POV_

Sometimes, District Twelve is called the ghost District. It makes sense to me, partially because our Mentors and Escort seem to be spitting images of the deceased people in our textbooks. The Escort is Effie Abernathy, the granddaughter of Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy. Historically, the Capitol believes that both of those people were wiped out, in an attempt to cleanse the Districts of all rebellion. That's why Effie is called Melinda Quartz when in the Capitol, residing in District Twelve, a unique trait among the Mentors. Lots of people here have names after key figures in the rebellion, resorting to using a ghost name, lest the Capitol decides to kill them as well. Effie is strong and broad, not dainty in the slightest, and wears a coal black dress. Her hair is a natural brown color, looking like the beer her grandfather had been so fond of. People like talking to Effie, and I do to, as I have a feeling she'd help the Districts win their freedom again if she could. The sad part is that Effie's younger brother, Jay, after the Mockingjay, is an Avox. Every now and then she looks thoroughly over all of our servants, as if hoping she'd spot her kin in the lineup.

"Now, big smiles everyone," Effie instructed, "If you act like you've won the Games, then people will believe you have, which means you'll pull in more sponsors. And I do assume that both of you enjoy living for as long as you possibly can."

Josh, my District Partner, nodded and continued looking outside at the numerous crowds. I wouldn't have been surprised if Josh's real name wasn't Josh Quick, but Peeta Quick, as he certainly looked like the long dead Victor. His hair was a blonde color, which seemed to catch the light, and he was very short for his thirteen years of age. Throughout the entire time I've known him, which must have been just a little over ten hours now; he'd been quiet and reserved. If I had been pushy, I would have asked him, but I wasn't so I held my peace.

Taking the hesitant first steps out of the train, the flashes of photography were nearly blinding. Everyone seemed to want to talk to me, asking me how I felt about the Games, who I thought would win the Hunger Games. It was the standard questions for the Tributes, yet the shakiness I had felt at the Reaping returned, and I couldn't help but think that something big was going to happen. Something that none of us would be expecting, that we best be prepared or perish from the consequences. Steeling my stomach, as to not spew out of the contents of my extravagant lunch, I smiled naturally at the people. Waving at them, batting my eyes at a few of the men, especially the ones that looked like they were rich. I'd already taken Effie's advice to heart, as this really was a show, and if I looked the part, perhaps I would be able to play the part.

"I LOVE YOU, ROCKY!" A young male screeched, jumping out of the crowd.

Effie moved us along, Josh smiling a bit and waving timidly out at the people. It was right then that I recalled Finnick Odair, the Capitol sweetheart, and what he had done at his second Hunger Games. Peradventure, I could do the same thing that he did, which should succeed in gaining me sponsors for the interviews. No doubt Effie would frown upon this, as well with our mentor, Rue Mellark Junior, or Junie Jonroe, as the Capitol had her registered. People didn't realize this, but the 'Jonroe' part of her name had been after a Tribute, from our District, in the seventy third Hunger Games.

"Now, each of you will be meeting with your prep teams," Rue told us, the twenty two year old granddaughter of Peeta and Katniss Mellark; sadly, she wasn't up to the task of starting a rebellion, "I know it hurts like…well, you know…But do try not to complain, it'll only aggravate them, and they're sort of like puppies, only wanting to please you…"

Rue's eyes were the steely gray of the seam, a common trait in our District. They had come from her grandmother, Katniss Everdeen, well, Katniss Mellark, as her mother had been in the Merchant Class of District Twelve. While her hair was a soft blonde, it always seem to tangle, looking jagged and wild, much like the spiky locks of her father. Obviously, her father was none other than the Cinna Mellark, whom had vanished along with his sister not all too long ago. Rumors are that President Gremlin took him, planning to use Cinna and Primrose against us somehow, though we weren't all too clear why. None of the other Districts were being punished like this, with the exception of District Thirteen, yet they had too been active in the Second Rebellion. Another piece of the puzzle board, and sadly, it did not seem to fit properly with the rest of the picture.

"Sounds fair enough," I replied quietly, wondering who our stylists would be.

Our District only had two years of luck when it came to spectacular Chariot costumes, as the original Cinna now was resting in peace, well, hopefully. It would be a real shame to discover that the Gremlins had him locked up somewhere, giving him forty one strokes of the lash whenever he showed the slightest bit of resistance. Everyone I knew had a vivid imagination like that, a result of the perilous crimes the Capitol had committed against the Districts. If I had my way, everyone would be allowed to win the Hunger Games, and the next rebellion would be a peaceful yet successful one.

"Hello there," a quiet girl called out, "I am Avangel Mistronette. I will be your stylist."

Avangel's eyes were the softest blue, looking like the glaciers that were fabled in our textbooks. No, that wasn't an accurate description, as they now looked like the pinkest hues of sunrise on the longest night of the year. Yes, that seemed to fit them better, it was then that the eye color morphed again, revealing a glistening ruby red, not looking bloodlike at all, but sophisticated somehow. This must have been a marvel of the Capitol that I've heard about, still splendid and grand, even if she hadn't been set ablaze, returning with not the smallest trace of a burn on her person.

"What about our prep team?" I requested, wishing to know why I hadn't been scrubbed down till my skin felt raw.

The stylist paused, as if mulling over the various choices she has in answering my question, "Well…For what you are going to be wearing I wish to have complete and total control over. I intend on turning you into the Victor of this Hunger Games, that way Rue won't be stuck all on her lonesome again."

Nodding slightly, it did not occur to me that Avangel shouldn't have known Rue's real name. Only people in District Twelve were allowed to, and mostly had found out through word of mouth. Sometimes when I went to the Hob, on the rare occasion that I actually had something to trade, you'd see her standing of on her lonesome. People would great her, treating her like Sally Sae, the girl who ran her grandmother's soup shop, had been treated as a child. My cousin, who I love despite her behavior being almost unbearable, didn't really like going to the Hob, finding it to be incriminating. Still, ever since my parents died of that disease, I've been living with her, my aunt, and my uncle; they were barely able to afford food as it was, so I tried to help the out whenever I could. In fact, I'd go out into the street and sing; peradventure someone would be kind enough to toss a coin my way.

"So what are we going as this year?" I inquired, hoping that I wouldn't be spray painted gray, void of any clothing, and try to pretend that it was the latest thing in fashion; it may have been that for the people of the Capitol, yet those Tributes never did seem to win.

_Josh Quick (13), District Twelve Male-POV_

By the time we walked inside of Remake Center, my trembling legs could hardly hold me up anymore. The terror that has been coursing through my veins since the Reaping had not let up in the slightest, no matter how many times I counted to ten, went to my happy place, or practiced breathing like an expectant mother would. In fact, if the girl from District Eight jumped out in front of me right now, I'd probably have a hard attack, even if she didn't appear to be that hard to fight at all. Two years ago, when Cypress Junos had won the Hunger Games, I fainted during it, freaking the Orphanage caretakers out majorly. While I didn't mean to do it, they just didn't understand that I couldn't help it, leaving angry marks covering my back and little bits of blonde hair littering the floor. Tears had poured freely from my little blue eyes, which people often compared to waterfalls- always going, never ceasing in their tirade despite my very best efforts.

"Now, each of you will be meeting with your prep teams. I know it hurts like…well, you know…But do try not to complain, it'll only aggravate them, and they're sort of like puppies, only wanting to please you…" Our Mentor, Rue Mellark, instructed.

Gulping it a bit, my complexion must have gone from pale to paler. Even though I used to belong to the Merchant Class, fear and terror pumped through me at those thoughts. What if they decided that I looked better with my leg on my head? What if they decided amputation was the next big thing, and if I obeyed my Mentor, I'd be the armless wonder who died in the Bloodbath? No, there wasn't any way that they'd be allowed to do that, correct? I mean, someone has to care about the welfare of the Tributes, at least until we're thrown into the arena. Repeating that wisdom over and over again, it sadly was no use, as the enormous fright that I now felt would overpower me quickly.

"Sounds fair enough," Rocky, my District Partner replied.

Rocky Nightlock…One couldn't deny that she was pretty, unless you were Rocky herself. There'd be no way that she wouldn't get sponsors, especially with that little show she gave them outside. If I had been in Rocky's shoes, I would have gone and hid under a rock, in a place where no one would ever be able to find me. After all, what's the point of hiding if people will assuredly find you there? None, no gain for you at all, as nervousness will plague your soul, climaxing when you see the soles of their shoes, holding your breath. All of the sudden, a sneeze comes out of your mouth and its game over, literally, Games over for you. Unfortunately, that exact scene that I had described occurred in the Hunger Games not once but twice; I didn't want to make it three times.

Walking through the doors, I took a final glimpse of Rocky. Her hair was straight, unusually flecked with gold, looking beautiful when put up against her brown hair. Not that I liked Rocky or anything, I just thought she was pretty, akin to the way one enjoys the sight of a majestic forest or the artwork of a master; there was no way I'd be able to date her anyways. Ever since the seventy fourth Hunger Games, the Capitol tries their hardest to drive a wedge in between anyone they judge as star crossed lovers. There would be nothing in the world that would make me want the Capitol targeting me; I hoped to run and hide where no one could get me, merely waiting out the Games instead of truly participating in them. Hazel eyes gazed over at me, then vanishing behind a cold iron door, as I followed suit and disappeared behind my own.

Curiously, only one man stood in the room waiting for me. On his face he bore a look of exasperation, as if someone had taxed him greatly recently. Biting my lip slightly, I hoped he hadn't been instructed to do anything too dangerous to us, as the stylists usually like to meet the Tributes after the Prep stylists have finished grooming them over. There wasn't much point to the ordeal, as one hundred seventy three times out of one hundred seventy five we ended up dressed as coal miners. Why not just shove on the Chariot now? Coal had settled on each of us; Rocky was from the seam, and while I used to be Merchant Class, I surely wasn't anymore. After my parents were killed in a mine explosion, I had been sent to the one and only Orphanage located in District Twelve, which just happened to be in one the poorest parts of the seam.

"Hello, Josh!" the man beamed, his grin looking natural and friendly, yet it only made me more prone to shy away from him.

In the Capitol, they lure you in with sweets and luxury. This had been all too clear ever since I stepped on the train, as the feast they had prepared could have fed a large portion of my District for a week. While that may have been an exaggeration in their minds, it is the simple truth, something which no one who had lived a day, or even an hour, in the seam would be able to deny without a heavy conscience.

"Er…hello," I mumbled, shoulders slumped as always, my head gazing at the ground in front of me.

Naturally, I had to notice that there were large and ridiculous buckles present on the man's feet. Guess this meant I got a crazy stylist this year, I thought with an inaudible sigh, looks like I'm doomed for sure. No one lasted very long unless they had a good stylist, great score, incredible interview, and a logical head on their shoulders. I'd already be out of the third one, but now, now it looks like I'd be counted out of the first one as well. Would anyone mourn me when I'm gone? I didn't know, and sadly, I believed that the answer would be no. Sure, someone might think of me briefly, as the shy kid who always stayed in the back of the classroom as if it was his security blanket. Yet that would probably be when some Career went on this year's Victory Tour, talking about how I did something well, when in reality, it had been something that I presented myself poorly at.

"How would you feel about wearing a miner's outfit?" the man question ecstatically, as if no one else had thought up that idea in the entire history of Panem.

"S-Sounds good," I replied meekly, being dishonest with him as to spare his feelings, exactly as Rue had instructed me to do.

This must have been how the living dead felt.


	13. District Thirteen at Remake Center

_Jet Newton (16), District Thirteen Male-POV_

The train hasn't arrived yet at the Capitol, for which I am glad of. Remaining inside of my room, with the shutters closed and the curtains drawn must have been the safest place for me. Two Avoxes, at my request, stand on watch outside of the doors, not letting anyone in. Not even Helios, the only Mentor for District Thirteen, would have been able to enter without gaining permission from me. Oh, and they insisted that I'd have to get out eventually, communicating this message through a form of sign language that almost looked comical. People must have played games like that before, though I wouldn't have known, as my childhood had been stolen away from me at the young age of six. If twelve is too young to be Reaped for the Hunger Games, too young to be taken away from your family and sentenced to a gory death, then the Master had already broken the rules. While it may be a matter of opinion, he shouldn't have done that, he shouldn't have murdered my parents all those years ago.

The Master wasn't actually his name, yet the Man didn't seem all too appropriate, so I settled on calling him that instead. Anyways, the Master was a thief, a crook, a criminal, and a menace to society in one loathsome package. Standing six feet tall, with huge ears the likes of an elephant, and a nearly bald head of black hair, his icy blue eyes may have been his scariest feature. When the Master looked at you, he pierced into your soul and read all of your secrets, seemingly, that is. And at the young age of six, I had been merely an infant in comparison to him, completely helpless, only able to stand and watch; I try not to remember it.

_"Please…," my mother begged, blood covering her face, "D-Don't k-k-kill my baby boy!" _

_ The Master turned over to look at her, his eyes cruel and uncaring. Illuminated by the flash of lightning, my terror only increased, and I wanted so desperately to run other to my mother, as everything would be all right then. Mother always made everything all right, a promise I had held her to in my each and every waking moment; from bruises to bullies, Mother would always be there to make everything better. We had the same hair color, me and her, the darkest black which you could only see on a cloudless night. _

_ "And why should I do that?" the Master questioned, his accent not anything like the one we had acquired in District Two. _

_ Her voice became mumbles as my vision became blue. Something was grabbing my neck, yet I couldn't tell what, so I relied on instinct to fight it off. Oxygen came less and less, breathing disabled, and I could feel the cold approach of death coming to me. Cruelly, images of the thing they call The Hunger Games flashed into my head, giving a face and a name to my assaulter. Saphira Glintson, the wicked girl from our own District who had won the Games this year, the very face of my terrible reoccurring nightmares. Mother had always been there to soothe me, to tell me that Saphira wouldn't harm me, as she lived miles away in Victors Village. _

_ "He's just a babe, weak, and totally helpless! Why, he wouldn't be of use to anyone!" The Master's voice yelled, penetrating my haze as the blue turned to red. _

_ Death would be coming soon, I knew, as all hearing in my right ear went out. My eyes, slowly but surely, began to roll into the back of my head, with the hearing in my left ear already eliminated. Would I really die now? Why wasn't mother doing anything? Why wasn't-_

"Jet!" A voice called, snapping their fingers irritably in front of me, "We are going to be there in five minutes! So I suggest you get off your high horse and get to business- you look like a horse trampled you at the Chariot rides!"

Chloha West, the Escort for District Thirteen, stood there in all of her glory. She had a bit, well, a lot, of a temper to her, causing her to frequent scold me. Yet she loved Adia, my District Partner, and hadn't said a single harsh word to her the entire time, despite the fact that we had the longest train ride out of all the Districts. Of course, I had been to just about each of them, running and running as far as I could go. Naturally, it had been my luck to chose District Thirteen, and then be forced to enter into their Reaping. No one knew me here, so not a single person had showed up to say goodbye to me, only the ghosts of my parents.

_"Take me instead!" a strangled voice yelled as I am dropped onto the cold and unforgiving floor, leaving my senses dazed and confused, my hearing gradually coming back, "Take me but not my baby! Please! Pl-Please!"_

"Jet!" she seethed, "If you are not out of the train in the next five minutes, then expect to enter into the Games with a bruise the size of Panem!"

"Of course," I replied, smiling slyly in an attempt to throw Chloha off of her game.

She wore a long and dark trench coat, numerous gold buttons adorning it, despite the fact that only one of them was needed for proper use. Two, if you preferred, may have worked just as well, yet the seven Chloha had were being impractical. A fedora covered her choppy brown hair, the black color matching the trench coat, which gave off a rebel vibe. Yet if you really thought about it, Chloha didn't match the description of a rebel, as she didn't fight the largest and greatest evil in all of Panem: the Hunger Games. Black jeans, frumpy and oversized, were also worn, though I couldn't tell what her shirt looked like, as Chloha evidently found the trains to the Capitol to run a bit on the chilly side. Paired with black army boots, she could have been off to fight a war, if the very idea didn't seem improbable to me. The only thing that Chloha West would get to look forward to fighting would be her next bad hair day, which, in fact, appeared to be just about each day. So yes, I did say it, but I don't really care, as it's not like she can read minds or any nonsense like that.

_ "All right…," The Master told her, almost sounding hesitant, though I still was unable to see much more than a mystical haze. _

_ Silence feel, eerily causing chills to run up and down my wounded body. If I had had the strength, then I most certainly would have pulled my knees to my chest and cry as loudly as I could. Yet a still form made its way out of the darkness, and counting the breaths, I came to the terrible conclusion that only two people in this house were breathing. One of them was me, since I still felt as if I was alive, and the fuzziness of my vision had slowly begun to clear. The other one happened to be the Master, who slung me over his shoulder and fled with the jewels off of my mother's wedding dress. I'd never see my house, my family, or feel hope for the future again. _

He'd always be the Master.

_Adia Loya (16), District Thirteen Female-POV_

A large red door separated me from the Capitol, and even if it existed here, it also existed in my head. They could never pay back for the several, if not thousands, of crimes that they have committed since annexing us back into the country of Panem. Each year, they stole innocent children from their families, leading some of them to believe that they wanted to go, that they wanted to become a bloodthirsty villain. So many people had been blinded and deluded this way, for which I must stand strong, and live when they were unable to. To make it worse, they made people forget of the Victor, cheering them and acting splendid, hating the person, who was broken inside unbeknownst to the world. Not all too many were able to grasp that concept, yet those that did were truly to be rewarded, as they have peeked through the veil that had been so carefully set upon us.

"Right, big smiles, or people won't want to sponsor you," Chloha informed, huffing slightly when only now did Jet join us.

Oddly enough, I didn't recall ever seeing him in one of the training sessions, as he looked as if he had attended many of them. My father, a good man, had been forced by the Capitol to keep the army ready in the event of a Third Rebellion. When forced to pick between servitude and his death, including the death of our family, it had only been natural for him to choose the former. Despite this, people in the District have hated our family for a while, tripping us up and sneering towards us at each and every turn. Resulting from this, I have become quiet, calm, and thoughtful; though deep down is a warrior, a person waiting for their chance to prove themselves to the war. That had been part of the reason that I snuck into those massive sessions, learning my strengths and my weak points, all without my father gaining any knowledge of it whatsoever. With the exception of my brother, who had caught me climbing back in the window late one night. It still eludes me as to why he had been waiting up, with the only possibility coming to mind that he had noticed my absence and became worried.

"Brace yourselves," Chloha advised, yanking open the red door, though the door still remained closed in my head, keeping myself from being tainted with the Capitol's ways.

Instantly, Jet rushed out of the door and ran into Remake Center. None of us even had time to take in his form, to take in his handsome complexion as it appeared to glow from the numerous flashes of light. Chloha huffed, and then gave me a look, the one you would receive when someone felt sorry for you. The Escort must have been under the assumption that I had grown up dealing with Jet, yet I had never seen him before in my life until his name had been called out at the Reaping. Combined with the fact that each of us was sixteen years of age, it made it quite curious that I wouldn't have seen him at school, as we were the smallest out of all the Districts. A burning longing soared through me, as I knew I wanted to unravel the webs of secrets and lies that surrounded Jet; peradventure I would be able to do so before the Hunger Games would start. After all, I'll end up seeing quite a bit of him, as he is my District Partner, a team that really wasn't a team.

Districts Partners were akin to the relationship two fishes had. They would swim along with each other, exchanging small pleasantries, and look as if they would want to protect each other. Yet when the Careers or the shark in this case, came along, all of the former traces of friendship would become null and void. Only one of them would be making it out alive, as one would flee, leaving the other to the mercy of the predator. Logically, we all know what predators do with prey; devour them. No better comparison could I have thought up, as I mechanically walked out of the train, gazing into the dazzling yet painful lights.

"Adia, love!" someone called out, "Smile pretty for camera!"

Improper grammar aside, the smile I wore was my trademarked one: meek and elusive. People had trouble trusting me because of it, no doubt causing them to tease me to see what would I did when and if I reacted. Holding my tongue, I'd merely stay silent, not giving them any satisfaction, yet making myself stronger. Only when push came to shove would I change my ways, and hopefully that wouldn't come soon, but in the Hunger Games, many things do happen. Death, starvation, betrayal, bloodlust, insanity, and disease were all terms we were familiar with, seeing them hand the final card of fate to the unlucky Tributes in the Hunger Games. Yet I had always wondered why there wasn't more Volunteers, more people that were willing to do those things themselves in the place of another. In our history textbooks that happened in each of the rebellions yet never did it happen in the Hunger Games, with only seldom few not abiding the unspoken rule.

"Come along," Chloha called, her arms crossed from irritation, "You don't want to be late for your stylists. The costumes are simply to _die _for,"

Ignoring the remark, the bad and thoughtless joke, I heeded her will and walked inside of Remake Center. Other Tributes were being lead through the lobby, the girl from One nudging the girl from Two, whispering something into her ear. I didn't see what the second girl's reaction was, as the metal doors closed them off from my view almost too soon. Cashmere, must have been the first girls name; she was a Capitol favorite this year, which isn't surprising with her endearing golden eyes. They looked as if an angel had been staring at you, though you weren't sure if they were evil or kind, merely there, merely watching.

"Right, let's get to work people, we're very very busy!" A tall and thin woman with curly hair snapped, clapping her hand as she walked over towards me.

If I hadn't realized it yet, I did right about now. As the Prep Team circled me, eyeing my body as the stripped it clean of each and every garment, did I put a name to what was happening. The Pre-Hunger Games, as it had been dubbed in my District, truly did not exist at all. It was all an illusion, designed to distract us with the ideas that we were free in these final days. But our final day had been yesterday, our final hour had been the one leading up to the Reaping, and our final minutes before our names had been called. Like it or not, the Hunger Games had already begun and were well upon their way.

"A storm is coming," a petite male murmured, raising an eyebrow from the rest of the Prep Team; they always had such perfect weather in the Capitol, so it gave off the impression that he had been talking about something completely different.

"It's nothing," the girl from before growled, though a line of worry marred her youthful face, "Nothing, got it? Nothing!"


	14. Chariot Rides

_Anita Shwratz (72), Citizen of the Capitol-POV_

I can hardly hold in my excitement! In just five minutes, five minutes too many in my opinion, the Chariots will be rolling out into the city circle! Oh, I do adore and admire this part of the Hunger Games! In fact, ever since I was a little girl, wasting away in a lowly manor with only three square meals a day, I had wished that I could have been a Tribute in the Hunger Games. Sure, they talk all about bad situations at home, yet I know that's not true! It's all for effect, as it was simply by their choice that they ended up in those dirty little Districts. Why, they could have been living in the Capitol! All they had to do was ask nicely, right?

Oh, there they are! District One is coming out right now, their snow white horses spray painted silver! How odd yet unique; I love it so far! Cashmere Combe and Griffin Holloway, I believe, are their names, and if I'm wrong, then they must have printed them incorrectly on the programs. Griffin I must say looks stunning, wearing a suit completely made out of the shiniest jewels you could find. On the back, it cleverly spells out his District Number, as if he were already in the training phase of the Games. Cashmere compliments him, her hair pinned up with jewels covering each inch of it. Just like Griffin, they sprayed her skin to sparkle as the light catches it, causing each sane member of the audience to gasp with awe. Her dress is made entirely out of sapphire crystals, a blue color that I must say that I do admire, and 'VICTOR- 175' is spelled out in rubies on her back. My oh my, the District One stylists sure have outdone themselves this year! Already the smiling and waving Tributes are crowd favorites, which I shouldn't have to explain why, as it is rather obvious!

District Two, as always, follows them out next! Leah Dagger, the girl, is wearing a dress made completely of daggers, obviously coming from her name. They shine and reflect the light, matching the cruel smile that she wears. They too are a crowd favorite, yet District One still holds the spotlight; my husband is a sponsor, so he taught me how to look out for these aspects in the Tributes. Leah's red hair almost looks like its aflame, reminding me of the tapes of a Hunger Games from ages ago, albeit the details are a little fuzzy. Her District Partner, Jackson Leo Ross, which I must say is a mouthful, copied her as usual. His muscles were exposed, revealing a glamorous six pack, and almost showing a little bit more, as to which some of the younger ladies hooted at. If my husband had worn that, I would have slapped him silly, asking why he'd chose to cover certain parts with only an axe and a belt. Oh well, that's what Tributes are for right? Completely expendable, though I doubt he's in any pain, as he bears a cruel smirk eerily similar to that of Leah. Great things can be expected from District Two in the Hunger Games this year, that is a given, of course.

My eyes widen when District Three's Chariot pulled out, as my low expectations were succeeded by a vast amount. The ugly girl, Malaya, doesn't look quite so atrocious, which happens to be another thing I really enjoy about this. We take these poor children and dress them up; hiding each flaw and making them appear to be almost human! Now, who could saw that was unjust and unfair? The dears complained about it more than they should have, in my opinion. A soft bronze color looks marvelous on Malaya, complimenting her hair color and her skin tone in a way that I could not have believed possible. Each Tribute wore semi-formal wear, with just enough skin showing on Malaya to create lust in the eyes of the men. Yet what must have been the most impressive is that there were moving gears! They looked exactly like clockwork automatons, and stunningly, they managed to steal the spotlight from District One. Jitz Low, I believe, is the boy Tribute, and he doesn't seem to make much effort to smile and wave at the crowd. In fact, Malaya almost looks awkward next to him; they should have agreed on an approach from the Chariot rides, another thing which returns the spotlight back to the Luxury District.

Fialla Howards and Nicolas Riddle of District Four emerge next, as all attention is on them for this crucial second. If we like what we are seeing, we will have no cause to turn away, yet if we don't, we will merely stare at the gems from One until someone else that meets our approval arrives. Though we should expect a good crop from Four, as their District has produced a fair amount of Victors, naughtily too, as we all know that they've been training. Fialla, bless her soul, the pour thing wearing that awful back brace and still managing to smile, looked exotic in her ocean blue dress. Each time she shifted her head, the blue fabric would ripple, creating an illusion that Fialla was the sea. And if you knew how tides and waves worked, you would know that the moon was a key factor. As such, Nicolas stood off a bit behind her; painted completely white, giving off a faint glow. While the concept had been a nice idea, they might have wanted to go with the traditional sea god look for Nicolas, yet otherwise, District Four has done a splendid job once again.

Instantly, everyone gasps when District Five rolls out into the crowd. Each of the Tributes, Reina Vane and Elezar Brewen, are wearing pitch black jumpsuits. From something that I can't quite tell, bolts of electricity, seemingly blue to the naked eye, are bouncing all around the two Tributes. It has the impression that each of them was live circuits, just like they probably would have had to deal with on a daily basis at District Five. Oh goodness, I'm getting terribly jealous right about now; maybe I'd be able to buy one of the costumes off of the stylist afterwards. Reina Vane is acting frighten and shy, hanging back as much as she could in the Chariot; poor thing, not all too many people will be sponsoring her after that. Yet Elezar, another crowd favorite, is standing as if he's taken the whole thing in. I must remind my husband to send over some money to him! It would simply be wonderful to add another District Five Victor to our vast collection!

Motion sickness hits me when District Six comes out into the crowd, despite the creativity of their outfits. Usually they dress up as a traffic sign, a train conductor, something simple that always comes out as looking corny. Yet this year they actually look quite dazzling, almost having as much attention at District Five. I knew that if I were from One, Two, or Three I'd be fuming right about now, the spotlight already been stolen and given to the lower and thus lesser Districts. Cassius Lisette is wearing a tight jumpsuit, expertly showing off his form, which some of the girls find to be very fit. I don't approve of using the other term for it, finding _fit _to work much better, especially in the limited social circles of the Capitol. The color is not a solid black, but a blur of colors, giving off the illusion that he is not the one moving, but the people in the audience are. His District Partner, Maya is amazing, her soft blonde hair curled ever so slightly, makeup making her pretty gray eyes seem big and soft. A tight dress, barely reaching mid thigh, is constructed out of the same material as Cassius' jumpsuit. If it weren't for the nausea from the feeling off us being the ones moving, I would have been cheering as loud as the youngest citizens that live here in the Capitol did on a regular basis.

When District Seven pulls up, the first thing I notice is the rather angry look on Axel's face. If looks could kill, he'd easily win the Hunger Games, giving District Seven its crucial second Victor. On occasion the stylists would break away from the cult, dressing up the two Tributes as something other than trees, advice that the District Twelve stylists should be told as well, with their junky and wretched miner outfits. Even if their outfits were horrible, he could have at least smiled, not looking like he'd been forced to wear a diaper. Really, the Tributes could be much more grateful, it's not like the Hunger Games are that bad, in fact, they're celebrated across Panem! Now tell me, how could that be a bad thing? Juniper Griffin probably agrees with me, smiling and waving, blowing the occasional kiss, to which a thousand hands leap from their seat in an attempt to catch it. Comically, a fist fight breaks out over who had actually caught it; Two officers are soon sent over to break it up. Soon enough the attention is diverted from the two trees from District Seven to the two Tributes from District Eight.

"Woah! Talk about creativity!" some young boy yells out, "Go Eight! Woo hoo!"

"Don't you just love the history in the outfits?" a girl sitting next to him asks, which he nods excitedly to.

Willa Hellmans, the pregnant girl whom I had already donated funds to, is looking extravagant tonight. Wearing a huge yellow ball gown, which reminds me of the ones you would see in this place called France, during what I think was called the renaissance? I'm not all too sure, didn't pass my history class, but I knew it was when they had a monarchy. Anyways, it glosses over her baby bump, concealing them which I didn't think would have been a very good idea. I'd only sponsored the girl because of her pregnancy, so the stylist must have been scorned for that by the girl's Mentor. If not, I'd make sure to give him a firm slapping myself. Though she still looks amazing, the yellow gown covered in buttons and fringes, yet tastefully so. Standing next to her is Abe Mercer; the two of them clasping their hands, raising them high in the air like some of the Escorts enjoy doing at the Reaping. He wears several layers, a powdered white wig braided back on his head, and a strange black cap. A long blue coat is adorned with buttons, similar to that of Willa's, except that they are of a shinning gold. Wearing black pants, District Eight has sent us a fashion blast from the past, which I must say is wonderfully done! Perhaps I ought to send some money over to Abe as well.

Ebon Furial and Cedar Tremaine from District Nine's Chariot follows District Eight's. Aww…Everyone is already cooing and waving at little Ebon, practically ignoring the quivering Cedar. For a moment, I take in her darting eyes, appearing as if she's trying to find a path to escape, a way to flee. She must have had paranoia, I concluded, since everyone else seems to be enjoying the Chariot rides, with the exception of Axel and that Reina girl. Cedar is wearing a knee length dress made completely out of wheat, which surprisingly looks fashionable. A fake smile is on her face, some people are actually buying the act, but after seeing seventy two Hunger Games, I can see through it instantly. Peradventure the girl will receive a more sympathetic sponsor, as the ones who enjoying picking the winners will be avoiding her, unless they believe her to be a Johanna Mason in disguise. Returning my attention to Ebon, who had to comically shove up his oversized hat yet again, my heart pangs in fondness for the little boy; I'll make sure to send him some money as well. He wears an oversized tan getup, with stalks of wheat shaped to it, looking silly and furthering his adorability. Grinning widely at us, Ebon jumps onto one of the horses, Cedar quickly following them as their Chariot explodes into little pieces of dust. For the rest of the Chariot Rides, Ebon and Cedar are riding their horses, with the former waving wildly into the crowd. Yes, it will be sad to see Ebon die in the arena, but maybe there will be another cute on in the arena next year; there usually is.

Looking at the next chariot that pulls out, I almost cringe at the male Tribute. For some reason, his stylist had the bright idea to dress him up as a pig. Each piece of clothing on his body is an awful pink color, smattered with mud, to make it look as if he'd been rolling around in the sty for a majority of the day. Gigantic floppy pink things are attached to his head, supposedly being his ears, and something similar is glued onto his rear end. At first, I felt sorry for the young boy, until he stared making oink-ing noises as if he was an actual pig. Everyone roars in laughter, placing a little star next to his name, that way they'll remember who they are. Ether Lessing's District Partner, Wednesday Vespers, is dressed as a pig herder. Her red hair has been braided and sprayed so it sticks out at the sides, and her teal eyes look innocent. Barefoot, she wears dirty Capri's and a mud stained shirt. Wednesday's eyes dart back and forth a bit, grinning a bit when she pulls out jelly beans from her bag, tossing them to Ether who catches them all in his mouth. Despite this not actually being the feed for pigs, the entire audience is eating it up, slamming their fists on the ground and clutching their sides from the intense giggling. Yes, District Ten should be able to receive plenty of sponsors after that performance.

District Eleven's Tetra Comn is also dressed as a tree, yet this one didn't make us reel in disgust. Her dark hair had been dyed brown, matching her tanned skin, and a short dress of the same color had been added. Weaved in her hair were vines, covered in the ripest grapes that I had ever seen in my lifetime, bring out her pretty blue eyes. Tetra waves excitedly at the whole crowd, jumping and dancing the whole time. Everyone loves the chipper girl that had Volunteered, relived to see her out of the fez she had worn during the Reaping. My grandson, however, had rather enjoyed that, commenting, "It's a fez. She wears a fez. Fezzes are cool!" whenever someone scorned Tetra for that. Persei Baxwoll, the little boy that would be her District Partner, represented the various crops that they grew. His brown ensemble was jagged, giving off the idea that he was in fact a rock, yet his hat looked to be an odd yellow color. Blinking a bit, I realized that it was intended to be a crop growing, even if it wasn't a very fashionable outfit. Out of the two, I think Tetra was the one who received the most cheers, especially when she started to do the Robot.

Groaning slightly, District Twelve is just as predictable as District Seven this year. Are the stylists even trying? How hard could it be to come up with an appealing outfit that has to do with coal? That Cinna guy had been able to do it all those years ago; surely someone else would be able to fit them into something nice. If I had had my way, they'd be dressed as diamonds, with a stark black Chariot to resemble the coal that they had come from. Unlike that Escort all of those years ago, I knew that pearls did not come from coal; diamonds did, which is far better anyways. Rocky Nightlock is dressed in a typical miners outfit, with slight far as it sparkles upon catching the light. Her stylist receives a 'C' in my school of fashion, and would have received an 'F' had slight effort not been displayed in the outfit. Clinging tightly to the hand of her District Partner, Rocky is smiling out at the crowd, yet not doing much else so I release my attention from her. Josh Quick, her District Partner, doesn't fare nearly as well as her. Wearing a traditional miner's outfit, void of anything extra, the male Tribute has literally nothing going for him. To make things worse, it appears as if he is whimpering in fright, clinging to his District Partner harder than she was to him. District Twelve will most likely not be getting their crucial second Victor this year; we all knew that.

Fortunately, District Thirteen rolls out finally, allowing us to look away from the disaster of District Twelve. My eyes widen, my eyebrows rising, and I am left literally speechless. While District Thirteen is always a crowd favorite, they have really outdone themselves this year. The Chariot is larger than the rest, for obvious reasons, as the Tributes are walking slowly. Surrounding them are giant hoops, constructed out of metal, which spin with each single step that they take. Adia, my personal favorite for the Games, right before Ebon Furial and Elezar Brewen, is positively stunning. Modeled after the neutron on their District Seal, she wears a mid thigh and sleeveless dress, which I can't say doesn't excite the male population whatsoever. The dress is constructed out of purple and blue balls, lighting up randomly, and her hair is left down. Everyone loves her, not as much as her partner, the mysterious Jet Newton. Jet wears a simple tux, made out of the same balls that created Adia's dress, though it doesn't look nearly as well done on him. They too light up, leaving District Thirteen as this year's favorite, reminding me of the only Games to have two Victors, each from District Twelve. I really do hope that Adia will win, as I'm positive that she'd make a lovely addition to our collection of Victors.

"Welcome, Tributes of the one hundred and seventy fifth Hunger Games, to the Capitol!" President Gremlin announced, launching into the same speech that each President of Panem reads at the Chariot Rides.

Sooner than I would have liked, the Tributes are paraded around once more, and vanish from our sight. Already, I couldn't wait for the interviews! Especially Ebon's; I'm positive that he'll be absolutely adorable!


	15. Training Day One

_Malaya Finaca (15), District Three Female-POV_

A black shadow woke me up, his voice powerful yet quiet. If this had been a thriller, he would have been a mysterious savoir, here to free me from whatever peril had befallen me. But of course, I would have denied Morginth anyways, as I had wanted to be in this position. I want to be in the Hunger Games, and since I hailed from District Three, no one had any mind to argue with me about it. Sure, they must have believed that I was crazy, that it had been unnecessary to go this far to prove my point. Yet if I didn't, then things would stay the same, with the pretty held above the ugly, the sickening unbalance never disturbed for eternity. Peradventure Jordana, the only girl at school who looked past my features to see the real me, would aid me in my quest if it became unfinished. But evidently, that didn't matter, as I was quickly informed to dress, grab a bite to eat, and come down to the training center. Not wanting to make my Escort, one of the sources of aid in the Hunger Games, exasperated with me, I flipped off the covers with a flick of my wrist. The black pajama set I had selected the night before didn't look nearly as glamorous as my Chariot Outfit, which several people had remarked suited my complexion perfectly.

The outfit laid out for me was a form fitting black jumpsuit. Pocket less, little red swirls were added here and there, an attempt to make the training uniform seem fashionable. And to top it off, embroidered largely in the same shed of red, smack dab on the middle of the back was, 'FINACA, D3'. Supposedly, they didn't expect us to be able to remember twenty six names after just a couple of days, which I must say is sadly correct. You'd think that we'd want to know the names of the other people in the arena, yet it only makes them seem human, so we don't really bother to memorize them. Even my future allies, the Careers, would be kept distant throughout the entire Games; I didn't want to feel sorry for monsters. That had nearly ruined Katniss Everdeen in her Games, and I'd be sure to not make the same mistake as the fallen Mockingjay.

"Malaya…They want us to come and eat…like it will do us any good," Jitz huffed, knocking on the door to make his presence known.

With that attitude, any potential sponsor he might have received would have dropped him like a hot rock. When going into the Hunger Games, it's best to not act like they've already constructed your coffin, even if that may be true. Though, that does bring to mind the question of what they do with the unused coffins. Perhaps they would save them, for when your death ultimately came, but it's the Capitol, it's not like they exactly care about going over budget on things. That's what the Districts are for; to keep the Capitol in a rich environment, no matter what is happening. We develop their technology, pick their fruit, catch their fish, and mine their gems; what wasn't for the Capitol person to like? And then, we provide wonderful entertainment for them each and every year. Dwelling on that matter, I pulled my dirt colored locks back into a ponytail, heading out of my rooms and to the dining area.

_Elezar Brewen (18), District Five Male-POV_

Calmly, Reina and I step into the elevator, the steel doors sealing us inside of them. Today, the people of the Capitol are going to attempt to train us. Yet, it really will make no difference in the arena, as a greater force is currently at play. Our destinies will lead us to the points of a finished adventure, allowing us to step into the next, possibly greater, one. Two of my siblings had already done so, and they assuredly must have been feeling bliss, the same thing which I may be feeling soon enough. Could my destiny be to protect Reina in the Hunger Games? There must have been a purpose for me being here, even if it would be a small one, though it felt as if it was hidden to my own eyes. Whatever it was, I deduced, had chosen to hide in plain sight. And wherever or not I would discover what it is, well, that would simply be the choice of fate.

"Good morning, Tributes!" a cheery woman, with a desperate look on her face announced, "Are we all here? Good, good. That's exactly what I like to hear. Now, we have several different types of stations here for you, each of them with an instructor on hand. If you have any questions, or wish to learn something we haven't provided, send for an Avox and our Gamemakers will be notified. My name is Debrianna Longwillow, call me Debbie though, and I hope you enjoy your training! Who knows, it could be a difference between life and death for some of you…"

Quickly the other Tributes dispersed themselves to the stations. The Tributes from Nine and Ten were each at the fire station, mumbling and cursing under their breaths. I already knew training wouldn't make a difference in any of our cases, proceeding to find a quiet place to think by the swimming pool. Surely no one would be there yet, enticed by the shinning steal weapons and fresh pieces of twine. Making my way to the tiled pool side, it looked as if my suspicions had been proven correct, as the shallow end appeared to be deserted. Filled with crystal clear water, the pool was easily a mile long, perfect for toning and enhancing any ability you may have in the water. The farther towards the end of it you went, the deeper the water grew, reaching forty two feet deep, the light barely penetrating it.

Perched already, I crossed my legs and shut my eyes, obscuring my view from just about everything. My spirit began to lift up, allowing me to slip into the peaceful state of meditation, the only way that I may obtain the knowledge that I craved so much.

_Fialla Howards (14), District Four Female-POV_

Swimming in the deep end of the pool, my expression must have been one of fear. Ever so carefully, I remembered Nico's cold treatment towards me, vastly contradicting his behavior in my daydreams. At the Chariot Rides, Nico had complimented my outfit with the others, adding at the end that it will make him appear even better to the sponsors. My crush, my District Partner, and someone who I was supposed to ally with didn't care about me; my heart shattered into a million pieces. No one, not even our Escort or our Mentors, knew about it though. If they had thought me already to be weak, because of my back brace, then they assuredly didn't need to lower their opinion of me even lower. Yet it didn't leave me with much, in fact, the only thing I really still had was my life. Why I had I listened to Aunt Shorrie? She had always been a hopeless romantic, like me, I recalled dismally. Kallice and Stuart had probably already written me off, just like the Career Pack had done earlier.

_"Can…Can I join?" I asked; hope clear in my soft brown eyes._

_ The girl from District Two, Leah, rolled her eyes, nudging my brace, "We don't take dead weight, sweetie. Now why don't you go play with some dolls? We'll take care of you shortly- once the Games begin."_

Tears threatened to spill over my eyes as I remembered that conversation over and over again. Not even Nico had come to my defense, despite how I wanted him to win the Hunger Games. If only I had not Volunteered, if only I had come to my senses, if only I hadn't been daydreaming during the Reaping, if only…If only I had a savior.

"Keep it together, Fi," I told myself, doing a perfect cross stroke on my way back towards the shallow end of the mile long pool, "You've got tons of sponsors and you're not in the Games yet. It's going to be all right…"

Pulling myself up onto the spotless tile, a large boy was looking at me intently. He had long blonde hair, reaching down his back, which looked messy and unkempt, as if he had refused the luxurious showers offered to him. The thing about him that put me on the edge was his eyes, a startling green color, which made me feel like he wasn't really looking at me. Elezar, I recalled, wasn't looking past me either, he was looking _inside _me, seeing each and every one of my flaws. Curling up slightly, I didn't even realize it as I toppled off the edge, falling back into the pool. Stopping me from continuing down too far, it was too late, as the strange boy became covered in the chlorinated water. Clinging even tighter to his bony skin, I cringed, mumbling an apology to Elezar. Yet he only smiled at me, as if someone who had found the answer to some mind boggling question; he reminded me of Kallice in an unusual way.

"Be you all right, little one? Be you safe, be you loved?" Elezar questioned, using a quote of President Gremlin's, which the old man had directed to his own son, Copper.

Nodding, a blush grew on my cheeks from my clumsiness, "I'm sorry I splashed-"

He interrupted, "Do not worry about it. Do not fret. For it is the will of nature, if I interpret…"

Treading water had always been something I found to be tedious, not really needing. When I swim, I love to have a sense of accomplishment, of going somewhere, which I why I quickly swam the entire length of the pool. Back home, it might have been deadly to do that, with the boats and nets littering the water's surface at each chance it could. A couple people in District Four didn't even know how to swim, or at least not very well, and preferred digging their toes into the warm sand of the beaches. A friend of mine had been like that, which hadn't served him well when he decided to enter the Hunger Games; I hadn't seen him since that Reaping day. Smiling slightly at Elezar, whose quirky personality I found to be exciting, much like my daydreams, and I lifted myself out of the pool and back onto the tile.

"I am Elezar Brewen," he stated kindly, "tell me why you have not joined the monsters that lurk in the daylight?"

"My name's Fialla…Fialla Howards," I replied, "The Careers wouldn't let me join…I wasn't strong enough, I guess…"

The searching and questioning face became appeased, nodding and surprising me by his request, "Well then, Fialla Howards how would you like to join my alliance?"

My heart skipped a beat, knowing that I would have a chance to live. Elezar may have been malnourished like the Tributes in the less popular Tributes, yet it didn't look as if he'd be easy to take down. And as an added bonus, I believed him to be kind, to be a person that I could trust and rely on. I've never been really good at reading people, usually being the one being read, but right now, I knew that I'd be safe with Elezar Brewen; he could have been the older brother that I never had.

Grinning widely, I answered calmly, "I'd like that."

_Jet Newton (16), District Thirteen Male-POV_

Upon arriving at the sword station, it should have been obvious that the instructed wasn't up to snuff. Hoisting a curved sword, a delicate piece created out of gold, he responded by grabbing a straight steel one. Nearby, the Career Pack, with the addition of the District Three girl, watched with smirking faces. Each of them expected for me to be taken down quickly and efficiently, as if I were a mere beginner when it came to swordplay. Griffin Holloway, the possible leader of the group, favored the long sword, waiting his turn for a duel.

"Ready…begin!" the instructor exclaimed, letting out a warrior yell afterwards.

Staying in guard position, the tall Capitol male sliced at my head. Automatically, I raised the curved sword above my head, forming a perfect high block, and watched as his blade slid off of it. The Career pack exchanged murmurs, which I unfortunately was not in the range to decipher. And more so, I was a bit busy, thrusting my sword towards my opponent's body. Blocking it with his blade, I faked a swing at his head, curving the sword downwards towards his legs. Narrowly, the instructor jumped up, right in time for me to slam the hilt into his gut, causing him lie spread eagle on the ground. Going to my knees, the world seemed to melt away as he cried out something my ears could not detect.

_ I was twelve years old again, straddling a younger, terrified boy. Carrying a curved sword, which the Master had trained me with brutally, I held it up to his neck. Quivering, his pale green eyes widened in fear, making little spluttering sounds as his impending doom grew closer and closer. It might have been a cry for mercy, a cry for a silent and quick death, or a cry for a way to continue living. But he should have known better, he should have known that no life awaited him upon either choice. If his body would continue to thrive, it would mean the Master taking him as he had taken me, which truly was no life at all. All of the others would say the same, a delicate blonde girl named Courtney taking her own life to be free of him; she had been very pretty, always kind to me. Tears almost spilled over my eyes when we had found her corpse, the body of the girl who had given me my first kiss, but they insisted on staying trapped inside me; I had learned not to cry. _

_ "Why do you want to live?" I whispered, hoping that my kidnapper would not hear; he hated us taking too long when doing his dirty work._

_ "Why do you want to die?" the boy countered, leaving an eerie silence to fill the room. _

"Come on, kid, that's enough!" the instructor cried.

Shaking my head slightly, the memories wouldn't stop coming back to me, despite how much I tried to keep them away. There was no way I wanted to think about Nikola, about what I could have done. It would only serve to distract me, to hinder me, to get in my way on my attempt to save my life. The words he had spoken so long ago chilled me to the bone, appearing in each of my nightmares in horrid and twisted ways.

"Jet…," a soft voice soothed, "Calm down; do you really want the Gamemakers on you?"

Turning around, my sword poised, I saw Adia standing there. Always irritatingly logical in my opinion, I wanted to be out of her presence as soon as could be done. Realizing I'd have to abandon my duel to do so, a few curse words left my mouth, the sword falling to the floor with a loud clatter. All of the Tributes had stopped to look at me, the pathetic girl from Ten smiling evilly up at me, as if she couldn't wait to swing that mace in my face. While I felt like growling at her, previous experience told me not to, and I made my way over to the vacant knot tying station. I'd already mastered them, but at least no one would be bothering me over here.

_"Why do you want to die?" _

_ "Why do you want to die?"_

_ "Why do you want to die?"_

Why do I want to die? Do I want to die? Why do I want? I want to die? I want to live? I want to live. I want to live….I want to live….

_Tetra Comn (16), District Eleven Female-POV_

For the most of the morning no one had talked to me, leaving me a chirpy and happy bird. But I ended up talking to the strict spear instructor, replacing the happy Tetra with the mad and savage Tetra. Whoever I uttered my first words to dictate how I could behave, something which I now found exasperating. How would I ever be able to know what I had used to be like? It wasn't as if I could ask my parents, who were now lying in their graves, still asking 'why, Tetra, why?' Even I couldn't answer that question, prompting me to go and let out my stress somewhere. Besides, the girl from Seven had left the archery station, watching with the others as Jet Newton beat the crap out of the sword instructor. Had I been in a better mood on this day, and a bucket of popcorn nearby, I may have enjoyed the entertainment as well.

"Do you need-" the archery instructor, Ka, started to ask.

"No," I snapped, annoyed at the blonde already, "I don't need _any _help."

Going over to the bows, my fingers played with each of the strings. Shiny and new, they'd never know blood on them, instead being bought by the rich to be held on display. It'd been working that way for at least one hundred years, with people still scrambling to recover the bows of the Mockingjay, as if good luck would be bestowed upon them. Selecting a thirty pound bow, simple yet sturdy, an orange sticker identified it, which would be a help during the private sessions with the Gamemakers. No matter how I acted, or really who I was, it remained to be my favorite weapon. We used to keep one around the house when I was a kid…It's in the custody of the Capitol now…the blood still decorating the tip of the arrow…

"Fire at will," Ka remarked dully, stepping back to let me aim at the numerous targets.

Notching a purple arrow, it was almost too easy to pull back all the way. Keeping my posture straight, my focus stellar, and my right eye closed, the shot was almost guaranteed to be perfect. Lining up the arrow with the jarring yellow of the bulls eye, the whoosh of air sounded swift and deadly, a resounding boom letting me know that I had hit my target. Brushing a lock of dark hair out of my face, a smirk grew upon me, seeing the perfect shot in the absolutely perfect place; the bulls eye, completely in the center as well. Selecting another arrow, long and slender like the rest, I strung it quickly. The red fletching facing toward me, I lined up the shot just as I did the last time, yet releasing quicker. Watching it sail with my open blue eye, my smirk grew larger as the shaft of this arrow splintered the other. Turning around to notify Ka that she'd need to replace an arrow, the approving looks of the Gamemakers, sitting up high behind the glass walls, caught my attention. They liked me.

And I liked me.

_Datura Gremlin (19), Head Gamemaker-POV_

"Any Tributes that have caught your eye, Miss Gremlin?" Beata, an old Gamemaker, inquired.

The girl from Eleven, Tetra Comn, splinters an arrow with another. Nodding my head, Zachi jots down a star next to her name, ensuring that she'll receive more favor in the Games then other. Simply put, life isn't going to be fair; it just won't be, so why should I bother trying? It's easier on us all to rig it already, to make it harder for someone, so that they can have someone to blame when it happens. Even Copper, my cousin, already understands that, I being his elder by ten years.

"Oh, yes…I have found some treasures, why haven't I?" I stated dully.

Cedar Tremaine creates a fire, flinching as the flames seem to bite at her. The girl from Ten seems to be her ally, rolling her eyes a bit and telling her something that we can't make out. Neither of them impress us, so neither of them receives a star next to their name. Elezar might have gotten one, had he not made the horrible move of allying with the weakling from Four. Peradventure it had been a move to be sponsors, but it won't get him many, I'll even make sure of it myself.

"Miss Gremlin?" Beata pipes again.

"What?" rolling my eyes, I actually have to turn in my chair to face her, "What's so _important _that you need to get my attention off of my toys?"

Gulping, Beata straightens her aqua wig, "It's the med team…it's about y-your uncle, Miss Gremlin…They say he's-"


	16. Training Day Two

_Leah Dagger (16), District Two Female-POV_

Going into the training room, the little chat they give us is the same one they did yesterday. Even Cashmere, my new best friend in the Career pack, agreed that it had been incredibly dull and quite unnecessary. Sure, the other Tributes might have needed it, but it's not like it's going to help them accomplish anything. I didn't Volunteer to come here just to lose the Games; no, I'm going to win them, that way Matt won't have to live with Thomas anymore. He'd get to grow up in Victors Village, perhaps even have his own glorious run at the Hunger Games, winning it just like I will. And if I didn't win, well, someone would have hell to pay.

"Right, who wants to be on recruiting duty?" Griffin questions; his presence is a dominating one, unusual for someone hailing from the luxury District.

"Shouldn't we all?" Cashmere inquires; she's the brains of the Career pack.

Malaya, our very first recruit, nods in agreement with Cashmere. The ugly girl from District Three came in as a replacement, as there was no way in the world that Fialla could be of any use to us. I mean, who was she kidding? With her back brace, literally no experience, she'd only be dragging us down if that girl ever set foot in our alliance. The most puzzling thing of all was that Fialla actually Volunteered to be in the Hunger Games, a peculiar thing if you examine her chances of actually winning them. When the scores for training are released, I'll be the one not batting an eye when she scores a lowly six, or even worse, a two. Hopefully any blunders that she'll make won't affect us, as I intend to make it clear during my interview who the real Careers in this year's Hunger Games are; Fialla is certainly not, nor will ever be, one of us.

"Sounds good to me," Jackson says, cracking a lazy grin before making his way over towards the Tributes from District Seven.

Taking the lead of the others, I glance around for any Tribute who might be an excellent addition to our pack. Unfortunately, it looks like a lot of younger children are in the Hunger Games this year, which means that it might just be the six of us. It doesn't concern me all that much, because that means the kills will be swifter and cleaner, unless one of the little things manages to tick us off. That does happen on occasion, especially with the people from District Twelve. Practically all of them swarm over to the archery station, thinking that they're going to be the next Victor of District Twelve. Scowling, I comforted myself with that thought that it was as likely to happen as President Gremlin to drop dead at this very moment. Glancing around a bit, none of the Gamemakers seemed to be alarmed, though a white haired one appeared to be seething at some information. Peradventure they were having problems with the arena? They had better not; no one, and I mean no one, should have the chance to delay my assured victory; especially that irritating, exasperating, and annoying Jackson Leo Ross.

Marching my way over to the daggers, a cruel smile appears on my face as always. Only one other Tribute is there, the instructor lazily sipping a beer. Whoever this boy was, he must have been worthy enough to join the Careers, or at least able to not slice himself open with the twin blades. Examining him, the Tribute carried himself as if he was scared to be noticed, though I could tell that he would be a force to reckon with. Repetition became evident as he tore through the dummies, stuffing flying everywhere; a piece of it lodged itself in my fiery red hair. Still, the mysterious Tribute didn't cease, didn't even flinch though he could feel my eyes upon me. Scanning through the faces of the soon to be deceased, his identity was quickly narrowed down to Jet Newton, the male Tribute from District Thirteen. An odd choice for the Career Pack, but maybe he could be of use to us; there was no point in wasting talent, I mused.

Staring at the pile of shredded dummies, I caught his attention, "What did they ever do to you, eh Thirteen? Stole your lunch money…? Doubt they can give it back, you know."

Jet looked up, his eyebrows furrowed in an expression that told me he wasn't all too happy to see me. While his shoulders had been slouched before, a trait that I often saw around some of the younger children in District Two, during their first training sessions, they were perfectly erect at the moment. Easily, this Tribute must have been a couple feet taller than me, yet I persisted in my goal of recruiting another member. Walking forward, my movement was like one of a cat, with this odd boy taking on the role of a helpless and pitiful mouse. Thinking back to my observation of Cashmere's skills with the same weapon, my smile turns to a smirk, positive that she'd be able to take him down with no hesitation in her shining gold eyes.

"You're wasting your time, Career," Jet growled, sneering down at me.

Looking up at him playfully, mimicking an expression of curiosity, I asked, "Oh? And why's that. Thirteen?"

Grabbing my shoulders with his strong hands, Jet pulled me close to him. My heart beat quickened, knowing that a fight might break out right now, but I wasn't worried about losing. Oh no, it would be far too simple to take him down; I've been drilled constantly and efficiently for each situation I may come across in the Hunger Games. In my peripheral vision I could see some trainers coming over here, no doubt to separate us if anything did in fact happen, but it wouldn't be needed. With one jerk of my knee, Jet would be on the ground, screaming in pain and begging for mercy. Well, needless to say, he wouldn't have any more chances of being a father after that situation. And if that didn't happen, it didn't matter, as he'd be dead in only a matter of weeks. Sooner if he refused my ever so cordial invitation, the one I had only silently issued to the strong and mysterious boy.

"I know what you are…," he murmured, his lips almost grazing my neck, "I know what you intend to do…I know you, Leah. But you don't know me…And you most certainly _never _will,"

Jet released me, my heartbeat returning to a normal pace almost instantly. For one second, it appeared as if he was going to do something no one had ever done to me. And for some strange reason, a pain seared through me, filling my entire body with sorrow that he didn't. Furrowing my eyebrows, the trainers shrugged slightly and went back to their stations, back to help the useless and pathetic Tributes of this Hunger Games. Who did Jet think he was? He certainly wasn't hot stuff; he just caught me off guard, that's all. It certainly will not be happening again, not even over my dead body would he be able to.

"Whatever," I huffed, tossing my blood colored hair over my shoulder and stalking off in an attempt to save face.

_Reina Vane (17), District Five Female-POV_

"Oh wow, Miss Vane! That is the best snare I have seen in many, many years!" the instructor cries, excited by the white hot flames of my fire.

Nodding slightly towards him, the message is instantly carried across. I don't like to talk to people all that much, especially those who are preparing me for my systematic slaughter, much like one would with an animal. If this is how the cows and the chickens felt, then I would quickly become a vegetarian, if only I would still have that choice. In the arena, you simply cannot say no to food when it comes to you, because you will surely starve to death otherwise. Grabbing the bucket of sand, it's quickly dumped over the flames of the brilliant fire, much to the utter dismay of the instructor. Upon leaving his station, he almost cries out in agony, wishing for me to come back and build him another one. But I won't, because I can't, it must have just been luck that I had been able to do it the first time. Everyone is probably able to have that much success with flint, though I wouldn't know, as my District isn't interested in preparing its people for the Hunger Games.

The girl from Thirteen, Adia, is the only other person at the plant station, so I figured that I might as well go over there. I didn't want to pull a Foxface, who nearly was another Victor for District Five, by swallowing some poisonous berries. Imagine the field day my uncle would have with that one; I dig my nails into my own skin at the very thought, little white imprints left behind for all to see. It doesn't matter, as several of my bruises from abuse are still here, despite the best efforts of my stylist. Sitting down in front of the numerous plants, a frown of concentration is evident on the blonde haired Tribute. Pondering as to why this was so hard for, I flawlessly found the poisonous one out of the lot, causing this instructor to go giddy as well. Why did so many of the trainers here like me? I did horribly at each and every station, only having mildly good results by some sort of miracle, which I didn't even deserve to have in the very first place.

"How did you do that?" Adia asks, getting more frustrated by the minute with her own collection.

Blue eyes widening, I felt shocked that she had bothered to ask me, "Oh, well…It's quite simple. This one," I grabbed a small orange berry, "is a relative of the salmon berry, found mainly in places like District Seven. But the berries you have are labeled in a completely different reigon."

"Ah, that makes much more sense now," Adia mused, "being in a different place, it is only evident that they would have different requirements for the surroundings. Not to mention natural selection would have picked them all out in the," she paused, glancing at the area she had selected, "harsh polar climate of the north. It all makes sense now, such an easy explanation."

Her gaze seemed to be a thoughtful one, and she did seem like a very contemplative person. Not to mention lean and tough, with brains to add to it, Adia would make for an excellent ally in the arena. If I had the guts to, I may have asked her if she wanted to be it, but a small voice in my head told me that she wouldn't. There wasn't any reason that Adia would want to ally with me, the abused girl from District Five. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't even wield a weapon, though the knife instructor had praised me the previous day for natural talent. Despite that, I knew I didn't have a drop of it in me, resulting in my own fate as a Bloodbath casualty, just another person for the Careers to mark off of their list.

"Reina," Adia started, interrupting my train of thought, "It would be a good idea to have allies, yes? That way one could keep watch while the other slept, and one could provide skills that the other could not…Would you, Reina? Would you like to?"

"What?" I whispered, my voice extremely quiet, "Come again?"

Smiling playfully, she repeated, "Would you like to be in an alliance with me?"

Numbly, I felt as if I wasn't in control of my body, hearing myself reply the one word answer that may have changed my fate. It may have changed my life, my destiny, and my future all at once. Extraordinary it was that the little word, only three syllables, may have given me hope for a life outside of the Hunger Games. The happy emotion swelled up in my chest, and I heard myself say it again, the shyness I usually felt quickly evaporating.

"Yes," I heard myself say, "Yes."

_Jitz Low (14), District Three Male-POV_

Sitting off by myself at the snare station, a feeling akin to happiness almost occurs. As always, the little word 'almost' is the catch, the thing preventing me from something that I could have had. At the Reaping, I almost wasn't chosen; Morginth could have shifted through the bowl again, pulling out the name of some other unfortunate soul. When we had the one and only dance at school, Sasha Capri almost said that she'd go with me; Sasha should have realized that Helios would die in the Hunger Games that year and not waste her time. But then again, it wouldn't matter for her if she had gone with me, as I'm going to die soon enough.

Throwing the snare on the floor, it flattens instantly, the knot work on it being only half finished. Is that all I have going for me? A bunch of stupid knots, with a stupid wire, that makes a stupid snare? No, I don't want that to be everything, I want to be alive, I wished that I was different. I wished that I was normal, but I can't, I just can't. The world is going to end in flames one day, just to mock me, and my mother will still insist that I look on the bright side of things. Well, I can't! I just can't! The tears welling up in my eyes are proof of that, proof that I'll never accomplish anything, proof that I'll just be another piece of dead meat. No one is going to cry other them, especially with my mother around.

Mimicking a high pitched voice, I spoke allowed what she would say, "Jitz is happier _now. _My baby boy is happier _now. _Nothing can go wrong in my perfect little world! You know why? Because I'm me! So hell to anyone who gets in my way! Right, dear?"

My dad would have nodded, not doing anything to stick up to her, just as always. He can't do anything either, I realized, the tears drying quickly beneath my now red eyes. I'm going to die, miserable and alone, no matter what I do. But that's what's going to happen to everyone else, too; even whoever manages to win the Hunger Games this year. It's only going to prevent their untimely passing a little while, as everyone knows that they won't be alive in the end. Look at what happened to Primrose Everdeen, the younger sister of the Mockingjay! She died in the end, by the hands of someone she trusted, too! Katniss shouldn't have bothered to Volunteer in the very first place, as her rebellion didn't even work. If you're going to do something, it might as well succeed in the very first place

"I can't do it…," I mumbled under my breath, putting my head in my hands, "No one can…"

_Ebon Furial (12), District Nine Male-POV_

Sitting down at the lunch table, everyone seems to be off in their own little groups. I had planned to go and sit with Cedar, since I didn't think she'd have gotten an ally by now, but she's sitting with Wednesday, the girl from District Ten. Wednesday whispers something to Cedar, causing a rare smile to spread across her face, the two of them erupting into a fit of the giggles. Looking down at my pants, to check that they hadn't fallen down again like they had at the Reaping, I discovered that they weren't falling down or anything. Looking back over at them, I still couldn't figure out what they were laughing about. Slouching my shoulders, wishful thinking had me look around again, just in case Emyrus had somehow showed up here. Sophaphina hadn't said anything about not being allowed to have visitors at the Capitol, just that I would get to ride a horsey. Which I did! It was a lot of fun, even if Cedar didn't like it all too much. Horsey's are cool, I've decided, so cool that one of the sponsor people should send me one in the arena. Could they do that? I don't see why they couldn't, because they have tons of money and stuff. Plus, the horsey would be free, right? That's the way things should work if it's for the Capitol's entertainment; they should pay for our stuff. I started to pout when Emyrus didn't show up, only the boy from Ten and the boy from Eleven walking together, clearly having become chums already.

"Why can't Emyrus be here?" I mumbled, poking at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I grabbed.

It wasn't fair, I'd already decided that. Pulling out my token, the reflection of Ether and Persei grinned up at me, taunting me. How did they know that Emyrus wasn't here? Did they know where he was? I hope they did, because they seemed nice, so they would tell me. That's what nice people do; if they don't do that, they are not nice. Emyrus is nice, which is why he became friends with me and helped me and played dinosaur with me. The other kids at the orphanage didn't; they're nasty, really really nasty like that Dagger girl, the one with the cruel smile. Her hair is the color of blood, a sickening feeling that arises in my stomach each time I see her; that Fialla girl seems nice though. Some of the older boys at the orphanage would have called her cute, with her soft brown eyes and curly brown hair of an identical shade. Still, I didn't think that girls were cute; most of them seemed yucky with a capital Y. But that wasn't very nice of me to say, so if any girls heard my thoughts, which would be pretty cool, I'm really sorry. Maybe we could play dinosaur together? That is if the Capitol people let me go home now; I miss home, a lot, even Miss Sandes or whatever her name was. It's hard to remember, because the people who run the orphanage change a lot from some sort of stress disorder. What's a stress disorder anyways?

"Hey, mind if we sit with you?" the dark skinned boy, Persei, asks.

"With me?" I ask, running his request through my head one more time, "Sure!"

Grinning up at them, I decide that they are nice people. Maybe they will want to be my friend; I know that I want to be their friend. The other boy, Ether, is really funny and I like being around him. For the rest of the day, the three of us band together, learning the different skills at each one of the stations. When we got to the knives station, we even played tic-tac-toe on one of the targets. I won! It was so much fun that I can't wait to come back tomorrow! This place is fun; Emyrus would have really like it! Ether likes it too, even though he's a bit shy, but that's okay. Shy people are just quiet because they're scared people won't like them, but I like him, which I plan to tell him as soon as I can. But I've got to be careful about it, since things like that sound icky and gross, and he's an older boy; I don't want to get beat up again. People at the orphanage used to beat me up; it wasn't fun at all.

Maybe Ether and Persei will be my allies? I hope they will, I really do.

_Copper Gremlin (9), Son of the President-POV_

They say that something is wrong with my daddy. I'm scared now, because nothing is ever wrong with my daddy. This morning, he was supposed to come and play with me, but he didn't come. Why didn't my daddy come? I miss my daddy; he's really nice and loves to give me toys. Miss Beata came instead, with my cousin, who looked like she was going to rip the head off of one of my teddy bears. I am used to people coming to see me, especially doctors; doctors like to put me under scanners almost all of the time. They've being doing it more lately, though I don't know why, and none of my friends have come over. The Tributes in my daddy's Games have friends, while I don't, which makes me sad. Only Mr. Cuddles is here; he says that I should stay away from Datura, that she's planning something awful. But I don't know, as my daddy says that Datura does only good things, because she's a good person, and good people don't do bad things. Isn't that what we have bad people for? To do the things that the good people can't? I wish I could be with the Tributes right now, as they get to play a game with a lot of different people. They get to go on a trip, too! Doctors won't let me go on trips, they make me stay in my room all day long, and then they prod me with needles. The needles hurt me, they leave little cuts and scrapes; I wonder if the girl from District Five was prodded with them too. I hope she isn't, I wish that she was happy, and Mr. Cuddles does to. I wish everyone could be happy.

But something is wrong with my daddy…


	17. Training Day Three

_Maya Eberhart (16), District Six Female-POV_

It's our last day at the training center, our last day to learn any skills that we possibly can. Just about everyone has dispersed themselves around the room like before, the Careers still trying to recruit some more members for their alliance. They must have felt some need to do that, some need to feel big and strong, and I hate them for it. For really, it is a need to make us feel weak and little, tiny and fragile, so we believe that we could never possibly win the Hunger Games. But I'm not going to fall for their tricks; I'm not going to believe the garbage they've been spewing, so I quietly made my way over to the track. Stretching a mile long, they placed it next to the swimming pool, that way it wouldn't hinder the Tributes training at the other stations. Fialla Howards is there again, with the male Tribute from Five as well. Curious, I don't seem to recall when they became allies, but perhaps it is better that way.

"Time me, please," I instruct the trainer, who lazily pulls out a stopwatch at my request.

Crouching down in a runner's stance, a countdown of sixty seconds flashes through my head. As that is the amount of time you get in the arena, it is only fitting that I make myself to start after that countdown is over. After all, there is no way that I want to let Griffin Holloway perform an unjust capital punishment on me. Taking a deep breath, pretending that the Cornucopia stood behind me, littered with the bounty of the Capitol. In my head the gong ran, and not more than a millisecond later, I took off with a dash down the track. Screams from previous Hunger Games sounded off in my head, my heartbeat accelerating as if this was the actually Games, that my life was in danger at this very moment. Imaginary spears came my way, causing me to drop to the ground and roll, standing back up and going full steam ahead as if nothing had happened. Some of the Tributes whispered that I was going incredibly fast, almost too fast, for a girl from District Six, but I didn't stop to listen to them. I just kept on running, as far as the eye could see, and didn't stop for anything. Thankfully, my long blonde hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, preventing it from falling in my eyes, obscuring my sight. Many people had died from that in the arena, the new reason that stylists were required to effectively tie it back for their Tributes; President Gremlin had enforced that rule in the Second Quarter Quell. Losing my train of thought, the gray of the wall appeared, my feet skidding to a halt before impaling myself into it. Glancing back, the instructor stood openmouthed, starring down at his stop watch, before yelling out to me.

"Two minutes and seventeen seconds!"

_Willa Hellmans (18), District Eight Female-POV_

Sitting patiently down at the camouflage station, I waited for my opportunity to strike. The duo from Seven stood talking together, deep in thought as the girl- Juniper- painted herself to look like a tree. Jealousness rose up inside of me as Axel leaned in, kissing her tenderly on the cheek, making a funny remark that I just couldn't make out. Clare and Clarence should have been able to have someone like that, to have a father that would look out and care for them. Because of everything, everything that had happened to quickly, they won't know who he was, or even who their grandparents are. It's wrong for them not to have that, but then again, at least they will be alive. Once they're born they'll understand; my little nudgers will have to understand.

"Dammit Clare," I mumbled, a particularly nasty kick ruining the painting I had tried to do, "Can't you save it for later?"

Juniper glanced over at me, her sweet smile vanishing from her petite face. It was then that she realized who I was; I was that pregnant girl from District Eight, the one that everyone felt sorry for. And they should feel sorry for me, as I should have never been Reaped in the very first place, but it's not going to matter once I win the Hunger Games. Clearly, the girl already felt extremely sorry for me, probably wanting to help me as well. Good, that will make my work easier, as the stony silence emanating from Axel tells me that he isn't the friendliest type. Opening up my mental strategy list, I'll make sure that I'll get him first, and then blame it on a bear or something. See, the girl looks gullible to me, an easy target, which I'm sure the Careers have already noticed as well. She'd probably rather go in her sleep anyways, rather than being tortured, which many of the Careers favor doing. In the end, I'm doing the girl a favor, and I know it's incredibly generous of me.

"Oh, hello there…," Juniper greets, "I'm Juniper Griffin, and this is Axel Treefall."

Faking a couple sniffles, tears welling up in my eyes, I replied, "My name's Willa, ma'am, Willa Hellmans. Gosh, you look mighty fine, all treelike and such. Boys must chase y'all all the time at home."

Axel put an arm around Juniper's waist, confirming my suspicions from earlier. And more so, he looked like the overprotective type which is even better for my plans. If I am to be in an alliance with him, then it would be highly likely for Axel to go off on his own to fight whoever crosses our path, in order to let Juniper live. Really, they're making this all too easy for me, the fake tears coming out slowly, leaving my cheeks hot and sticky; perfection at its greatest. Her smile weakens again, revealing that I am expertly playing her heartstrings, good practice for win I must do the same with the entire Capitol soon, along with the judges during the scoring. Of course, it will be important for Juniper to issue the invitation, to remove any protests from her boyfriend, while he would be open to object if I was I who said it.

"Thank you," Juniper said weakly, "Hey…do you want to be allies? I think you're a pretty good person and all…,"

If I had not been acting, I would have smiled coyly, or as big as the Cheshire Cat. Instead I sniffled for effect, beaming up greatly at the blonde, the girl whom I was the elder of by one year, "No'm, thank you…That'd be swell."

_Rocky Nightlock (14), District Twelve Female-POV_

"Josh…We should probably get some other allies…," I say, playing with a piece of twine in my hands.

My District Partner glances over at me, his face clearly white. He's probably thinking that I want to join the Careers, something outrageous, as each person in District Twelve with common sense in them knows not to. Sure, they may keep you alive for a little bit, but you'll be one of the first to die when they tempers start to fly. They actually had a full blown out poem about it, which my friends and I would sing along to, whenever we were able to get out hands on a guitar. Our music teacher, Ms. Walyone, owned one of the rare things and even taught me how to play it. Lisa, my cousin, had talked about how we could get one for me from the tiny little music store, but we're short on cash as it is. After all, my parents died when I was seven, making each Tribute from District Twelve this year an orphan. And even if Josh used to be from Merchant Class, he's one of the seam now, another thing that we each have in common. All in all, most people aren't expecting another win from our District this year, but I think that Josh and I can surprise them. Who knows, we could be the next duo Victors in the Hunger Games.

"Fialla looks nice…," Josh stated, almost stuttering from anxiety.

"Okay, do you want to ask her then?" I proposed, already walking towards the swimming pool, Josh following me like an adorable little puppy.

"Ye-Yeah," he stammered, only bothering to answer when we passed through the dressing rooms.

Swimming in the pool as always, even the swimsuit had been designed for training. A once piece number, done in black, it had the same vibrant red swirls as the jumpsuits we had been provided with. Fialla's brown hair had been tucked inside some sort of spandex cap, which I didn't know the name of, since we didn't even go near the water in District Twelve. Each thing we learned about was related to coal, so much that if we chatted in a group amongst our friends mindlessly, it would be bound to turn up in conversation. Still, her eyes seemed to be shinning with something, something that reminded me of courage, as if Fialla had finally found her spark; I really hoped that she did.

"Greetings, they are cordial and civil, yet they lead to a deeper meaning that confounds us all," Elezar stated, his startling eyes opening up from where he sat cross legged.

"Quillius Pine," I stated, smiling softly, "Leader of the Attempted Third Rebellion."

_Cashmere Combe (15), District One Female-POV_

Hurrying into the bathroom, I'm relieved to find that the door locks from the inside. No one will be able to find me in here, not even Leah, who thinks that I'm going to ask my mentor, Julius, for a bit of advice. Thankfully, she's far too impatient, meaning that she'll go blow off some steam while throwing knives, not bothering to think that I would have hidden in here. But an added bonus is that he won't find me, that he won't realize what this is about, humiliating me and finding out my weakness before we have even been thrown into the arena. Surely I'd end up being sent home in a coffin, much to the despair of my siblings, especially Copper and Pearl, whom I love to death. In fact, guilt rises up inside me upon realizing that Emerald should have been the one to participate in the Games this year, since it was her last year anyways, and I'd still have more time. But I push the thoughts down, knowing that I've done this best thing I could have done for my sister; I let her live. If Emerald had died in the arena this year, woe is me, as I know that I should have been in her place, to take the blow for her. Would she have taken the blow for me? Yes, Emerald certainly would have, but I hate myself for doubting that to be her only reason.

One thing that I've noticed since I arrived here is that everything became so complicated. Sure, I'd made a friend in the Career Pack, but there aren't any real friends in the Hunger Games. Leah could be manipulating me, feeling out my weakness, already planning my death and marking me down as dead. Of course, any number of the Tributes could be doing that, including him; he could very well want me to drop dead at this very minute, never knowing how I felt. We'd been at the archery station together the other day, and while he didn't utter a single word to me, I felt as if he had. For some reason, that strange boy had spoken to me, not verbally, but with his body language; I'd always been good at reading people.

"_If I could write out my own dream,_

_For the next time that I sleep,_

_You'd be the first one that I see,_

_And I the last one that you keep,_

_And the dream would go on and on,_

_While we sway against all things thrown our way,_

_And the morning would be so cruel,_

_When it came with sunshine and warmth to blame,_

_For announcing the end of my sweet dream,_

_For announcing the end of my sweet dream,"_

People always did seem to be entranced by my singing, the very reason that I had chosen to hide myself away. In the arena, it could actually prove to be a valuable skill, which I hope that the Gamemakers touch upon when deciding my score. My voice had been known to cease arguments, attract animals, and one time mend a broken heart. Greg Laswell's song fit so well, it felt so right, so much so that it would be wrong to not cry it out to the heavens. But lest he heard me, I must stay quiet; I must not let this be the end of my sweet dream. For when I wake up, there will be my meadow, the only thing awaiting me in the cool hand of death, quickly falling upon him and twenty four others. Peradventure he'd survive the first day, but if he didn't….Well, it would surely be announcing the end of my sweet dream; it broke my heart to know it so.

_Josh Quip (13), District Twelve Male-POV_

"Well done, Miss Nightlock," the boy with the freaky eyes congratulated, smiling broadly as if he had found another kindred spirit.

Was this boy Fialla's ally? He almost looked like an older brother type figure, to each and every one of us, as he must have been at least seventeen years old. Elezar was looking almost skeleton like, with his dirty hair reaching midway down his back, I almost expected him to gobble me up on the spot. Taking a few shaky steps backwards, Rocky shot me a compassionate look, as if trying to mentally tell me that it was going to be okay. But it won't be okay, as something is always to go wrong, especially now that I'm here. Now that I'm stuck in this impossible situation, with that used to be a slim chance of survival, even slimmer with the two new Tributes from District Thirteen. Just about each person who went into the Hunger Games died in it, with only one person getting to be the lucky one, the one to shoulder all of our grief and all of our pain. The Victors not only live their own lives, but they have the burden of living for the fallen, the hardest thing to do of all. So though I'm scared of losing the Hunger Games, the thought of winning turns me pale as a ghost as well; neither way seems all right to me.

"Hey, I'm Fialla; you're Rocky and Josh, right?" Fialla introduced, pulling off her cap to shake out her messy brown curls, sitting on the edge of the tile with her slender legs dangling into the pool.

"That's us," Rocky replied, smiling sweetly as always, "We actually were wondering if you'd like to-"

"It is the quality of one's convictions that determines success, not the number of followers," Elezar interrupted with a quote, remaining in his cross legged stature.

"Then consider us convicted," Rocky joked, "So, we're in?"

My heart pounded, knowing that this is what my language arts teacher would call a pivotal moment. Whatever happens right now will change everything; we could all die together, or we could all live, being the first Tributes to ever have four Victors out of the same Games. Frowning a bit, a Games a couple years ago almost had it happen, but the President had been enraged, to a freak lightning storm killed off all but the Capitol favorite, and as always, it had been a Career Tribute. No one ever really liked the other Districts, preferring the ones where the Tributes were bloodthirsty, that way they could be provided with a decent show. And that's what it really was, right? A sick and terrifying show, distracting people from the real problems; I can't help but be distracted right now, as I've always been a frightened person. In fact, if Fialla and Elezar denied teaming up, I may break down crying, having to be dismissed from the training center earlier than anyone would have liked.

"I don't see why not," Fialla uttered with a grin, causing my fluttering heart to stop for about three seconds, followed by darkness and nothing else.

_Cassius Lisette (16), District Six Male-POV_

Walking into the changing room, each locker is made out of the same sterile steel material that the elevators consist of. Idly whistling to myself, as an attempt to pass time, today has been pretty boring so far. Nothing had really happened, at least, nothing that had been able to grab my attention, screaming out at me to ensure that I didn't miss it. Tapping each of the lockers as I went by, the loud banging sound effectively blocked out any and all conversations that could have been happening. Almost two soon did I reach the one marked 'DISTRICT SIX, LISETTE' in large bold print. Glancing over the contraption, a fingerprint scanner stood in place of a look, to which I raised a curious eyebrow. When had they had a chance to get out fingerprints? The Capitol, supposedly, was all about blood DNA identification these days. We all knew that, as they must have had about a pint of our blood right about now, so why did they change to fingerprints all of the sudden? Frowning, I stuck out my pointer finger onto the scanner, marveling only slightly when the locker beeped and opened up.

"Talk about classy," I murmured, pulling out the pair of swim trunks they had provided for me.

Well, they weren't really swimming trunks. In fact, they looked more like a piece of black underwear with red swirls on the side to me. Looking around to see if anyone else was in the changing room, I reluctantly put the feminine looking swim wear on, depositing my training uniform inside of the locker. Squinting when the locker protested being closed, all I had to do was place my finger on the scanner again and it snapped shut. It actually reminded me of home in a weird and twisted way; my father now has to run the shop all by himself, so I wired everything up so my work will be done at the press of a button, just in case something like this could ever happen.

"How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" I repeated over and over again, trying to find something to fill the boredom; there really wasn't anything here for me to do, as I've already proven myself to be well rounded at just about everything here.

Strutting out of the changing rooms, I muttered that phrase all over to myself again and again. Eventually, it came out more as, 'How much plod ploud a woodhuck plod is a woodluck ploud pluck plod?' meaning my tongue had been successfully twisted. The pool sat glistening and shinning, the only other people out here all off to the side in a huddle. Casting worried looks and murmuring to each other, I hadn't a faintest idea as to why they were doing that, mildly intrigued. Going closer, I recognized the group as one of the newer alliances, though I didn't know that they had added in the girl from Twelve either. See, it's not so easy for me to remember spoken things, but if she had worn a shirt with her name on it, then I'd know who she was. But as that never happened, and probably never will, I just know her as Nightlock, the girl from District Twelve. Though, Nightlock did look rather pretty, with lightly tanned skin, warm eyes that looked like they may be hazel, and sweet dark hair; she didn't meet the description of a typical District Twelve Tribute at all.

"Hey, what's up guys? Spontaneous huddle day or something?" I asked

Howards, the little girl from Four who had Volunteered, frowned slightly in my direction, "Josh fainted, and it's not something to joke about…,"

Oh, that's brilliant. Any chances of earning their trust must have been gone by now, but it doesn't matter, as I don't really care. The Hunger Games will be easy to win, I'm sure of it, and I'm not trying to sound arrogant. Once again, if I am, it doesn't bother me in the slightest, not even exasperating me slightly. For my entire life, I've been trying to find something to get me to care, to get me to live a little bit, just something that I'll be able to have fun with. Though the Hunger Games doesn't seem like a typical place to meet any of those requirements, the universe does work in odd and funny ways, so maybe it is the right place.

Just maybe.

_Jackson Leo Ross (17), District Two Male-POV_

Sometime around noon the trainers tell us all to stop, to drop our weapons where they are, and go get something to eat. Letting go of the piece of twine I had been tying a noose with, which had been exceptionally well done, I heeded their commands just this one time. It almost felt like a shame to see the piece of twine lying idle, denied of being tied up to a dummy right now, but I could always do it in my private session with the Gamemakers. While we can't know what happens during those, a gut feeling tells me that only good things would happen to me if I did do it. Walking over to the elegantly set tables, constructed out of clear glass, a girl with dark hair brushes past me. Snapping my head to attention, the sleek and slender form belongs to Cashmere Combe, the true beauty in the Career Pack this year. Of course, we never did expect much out of Malaya, given that she's from District Three, but as a legacy, and the fact that Malaya had trained, we figured she'd be a decent replacement for Fialla. That is, if she manages to at least score an eight in her training today; if not, then Malaya won't be living past day one if us Careers have any say in it. And then there's Leah; her hair is the color of blood, which I'm sure some of the sponsors would love, but she just doesn't have the elegance of Cashmere. Even Mariah, my moody sister, would have had to admit that Cashmere was an ethereal beauty. As such, we told her that she'd have to play that card during her interviews, that way we can get even more sponsors than we could have before.

"So," Griffin called our attention to him, spearing a chunk of apple with his knife, "Any other new recruits, besides Malaya?"

Leah's eyes dart off towards someone, followed by an almost inaudible sigh, "Negative."

The District Three recruit shook her head as well, her brown locks wiping from side to side slightly. Really, she should have kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail, because she almost looked like a poodle this way. People knew she was unattractive, but if I thought about it for a bit, Malaya just looked average to me, not extremely ugly. Perhaps I got used to it, with my mother working in the clothing industry and all, but I just can't put my finger on it. Oh well, maybe it will come to me after I win the Hunger Games; yes, it will right about then, or perhaps when I'm training Mariah for her chance to shine.

"You, Jackson?" Griffin inquired, breaking off my train of thought.

"Oh…," I paused, my mind flashing through the various faces of various Tributes, "Maybe the guy from Seven? Dunno…Haven't asked him yet."

Oddly enough, Griffin clenched his fist, as if being reminded of something no one should have said. What had District Seven done to him? At the start of this whole thing we agreed on the Districts to avoid, the ones that certain people were desperate to get a shot at in the arena. The leader of the Career pack didn't say anything about hating District Seven, which is curious as to his reaction at their name right now. Cashmere had a knowing look on her face, glancing at each of us in turn before answering for her District Partner.

"The District Seven boy denied our invitation," she paused, "with a death threat to the Tributes of District One."

Oh.

_Adia Loya (16), District Thirteen Female-POV_

Over the course of two days, Reina and I had become quite good friends. At this point, we could chat with each other easily, a natural flow developing that I had only shared with my brother before. In fact, Reina almost felt like a sister to me; almost being the key word. Sometimes, when we were talking with each other, she would have a strange look on her face, as if she had said something that she shouldn't have. I didn't know much about her family because of it, only that she lived with her uncle, as her parents had passed away; when I asked how, Reina turned as white as a sheet. Not wanting to press my ally any further, we ate our lunch in silence, as she still had that hunted look in her eyes. What had happened to her? I wished that she could tell me, so perhaps I could help her, as I'm rather good at doing that, or so my brother tells me.

A tall boy, with dark hair and a blank look on his face shoves passed me. Frowning a bit, no glancing behind me to see who it is would be needed; I already know that it's Jet Newton. The only other boy here that looks similar to him is Axel Treefall, the Tribute from District Seven, or maybe even Cassius Lisette from District Six. But it's not the appearance that tipped me off; it's the attitude, the loneliness of the person inside of the mask. Like Reina, Jet hadn't let me get any answers out of him, but unlike my ally, he had refused to communicate with me all too much. Most of his time was spent locked up in his room, demanding an Avox to be in there with him for some odd reason. Did he think someone was out to get him? Well, the answer to that would obviously be yes, as just about each person here wants him to drop dead; if he's dead, then they would be one step closer to getting home. Everyone wants to get home, even the Careers who Volunteered to come here for the glory and honor of winning the Games. But I see right through that, I know the real reason that they Volunteered; the Careers are scared too. All they do is train and train, that way they won't die when it's their turn to be sent into the arena. And while they believe that they want the honor, I think that the true reason is so they will never have to do it again; that they will never have to become a monster again in their life time.

Yet Jet puzzles me, he confounds me in a way that I never believed could have been possible. First of all, no one in the District had even seen him before the Reaping, and logically, it would be impossible for a strong sixteen year old boy to appear out of thin air. Jet must have come from somewhere, and something tells me that it wasn't from the Capitol. What was his story? Why did he act this way? What was going on in his head when he would get those terrified looks, as if something was haunting him from behind the grave? Did someone hurt him? Did he belong to the army that my father had trained? Or maybe he was from the Capitol, a potential Avox on the run? I didn't have a single answer to any of the questions, which caused me to furrow my eyebrows and completely miss whatever little comment Reina had made.

And why did I care so much about Jet Newton?

_Griffin Holloway (17), District One Male-POV_

The rest of the Careers sit chatting mindlessly, but I hold my peace for now. Since any actual business we had to discuss is over, there is no point to waste energy by yapping my trap off. Jackson and Cashmere may have been having some fascinating conversation, but unless there is an actual point to it, then I will not be joining in. After all, this entire thing is just a warm up for the Hunger Games, so I'll need to have some strategy. There is no way that I'm coming home to Alura and my father in a coffin, dressed up sickly by one of the Capitol stylists. Not only would that not be good for me, it would be a completely morbid memory for my younger sister to have, and no doubt one that would stick with her for the rest of her life. There was no way I'd want to do that to my little sister, especially since it will serve as a distraction to her in her own Hunger Games; I'll start training her for it as soon as I return home.

Returning my attention to the sliced up apple I had chosen, I popped another piece in my mouth, savoring the flavor. Sure, we get tons of fruit from the few vineyards we have in District One, but these apples were soaked in something they call soda here. It gives them a bubbly taste, probably extremely unhealthy, no doubt, but it is something that I have come to enjoy here in the Capitol. Glancing over at the newest alliance, with a total of four members, I decide that we'll have to try our hardest to kill one of them off in the Bloodbath; Cashmere or I will do it. I've planned to have the other Careers be the ones to die off first, that way District One will be guaranteed a win, along with the protection of not being killed by Cashmere. If you kill your District Partner, it makes your victory a disgrace to the entire District; someone else will just have to take care of her for me then. Still, I wouldn't exactly have a choice if it's just me and her in the final two, but I'll cross that bridge when it comes, and I doubt it will. Right now, I don't need any distractions to get in between me and my victory; if it does, someone is going to have their head ripped off, and I'll make sure to savor that moment as well.

"Attention, Tributes!" The head trainer announces, standing up on a table, "You will have thirty more minutes to consume your food, and then you are all going to wait outside. One at a time, you will be going inside for your session with the Gamemakers. Remember, this session is private- you cannot share what happens with your team. Also, we will be going boy girl order! Griffin Holloway, you'll be up first, followed shortly by Miss Cashmere Combe! Then we'll have the handsome Jackson Leo Ross, and the enchanting Leah Dagger. And so on…Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

* * *

(remove spaces) the 175thhunger games . blogs pot .c om


	18. Private Sessions Part One

_Datura Gremlin (19), Head Gamemaker-POV_

Sipping some of my tea, a small sense of calm begins to worm into my body. The last couple of days had been stressful, what with the news about Uncle and all. It's hard to believe that it could really be true, that this could be actually happening to him; Copper isn't taking it well either. But I mustn't let him know about it, as he'll be the President one day, and right now I need to focus on the task at hand. Finally, it is the time for me to evaluate my toys, to see what story I'll be able to paint for the beloved Capitol this year. After all, it is my very first time as the Head Gamemaker, at Uncle's insistence of course, and it would be disgraceful to have anything near to the action of the seventy sixth Hunger Games; the tapes of those Games have been destroyed, with only a couple still left in existence. My first run at the job would be spectacular, and I've already starting to get an idea of who I want to be the Victor. But of course there's the whole matter with the girl from Eight, what with her being pregnant and all, yet I think that I have found a suitable solution to that little conundrum.

"Griffin Holloway, District One," a muscular boy with short black hair announces.

Nodding at him, he immediately stalks his way over to the swords. Slouching in my chair slightly, I had at least some hopes that someone would do something original this year. But no, Griffin asks for a partner to spar with, at which the sword instructor steps forward with his khopesh. Not many of the Tributes actually know the proper names for things, same with Griffin I suppose, who is carrying a Japanese Long Sword. Yawning a bit, the tea I've been sipping doesn't seem to wake me up, so I motion towards Beata to take notes on each of the Tributes; I may very well start to fall asleep. Bowing to his partner, Griffin opens up with slash at his legs, and while the move was good, I find it irritating that he doesn't yell 'ashi' when he does so. If he's going to use a Japanese sword, then he might as well use the proper Japanese cries! Watching the rest of the fight, in which he's steadily working the trainer into a wall, I find that it continues to bother me. Still, I have to admit that his swordplay is impressive, so he'll receive a decent score for a Career; not my favorite Tribute though.

A petite girl, the one with the gold eyes, steps inside of the room when Griffin leaves, "Cashmere Combe, District One."

Instantly, my interest is caught, as I've been paying close attention to this girl. Hopefully she'll be more creative than Griffin was, but I can't help but feel a slight frown crease my face as she steps towards the knives. Cashmere selects several daggers, tucking them into her clothing the way only a true professional knows how to do; I had seen her learn how to do it in training, yet I can't fairly hold it against her. Besides, those eyes are going to make for wonderful close-ups in the arena; she'll make a fine addition to my playthings. Nodding towards us to signal that she is ready, Cashmere throws each dagger with impeccable aim, hitting each of the dummies perfectly. Oh yes, I have found quite a treasure right here; she'll be able to go far. But upon looking closer at the dagger, a pattern to them has been formed, almost looking as if it spells out 'I WIN!' in the several dummies. Smiling cruelly, we dismiss Cashmere with high hopes for the golden eyed girl.

"Jackson Leo Ross," a copper haired boy introduces with a sloppy grin, "District Two."

Oddly enough, Jackson asks for three trainers to come over to help him with something. Curiosity intrigues me, wondering what he's going to do, and I actually would not mind if it was three-on-one combat; it's always a different outcome each time. Reflecting upon the individuality of the golden eyed girl, I'm hopeful that this toy will dance as well as the last one did. After a small huddle, in which I believe that it's lasting far too long, so this is going to have to be good. If it isn't…well, he'll pay in the arena for wasting my precious time, no matter if he's a Capitol favorite or not. Sipping some more of my tea, I wonder when the feast is going to get here, and if I'll have to punish the poor Avoxes for being late; I hope I do have to, as it is much fun to get out the spiked flail every now and then. Jackson signals for his partners to stop, each of them armed with a various weapon. The very first trainer comes at him with a spear, to which Jackson ducks under at the very last second, swinging a right hook, which connects with his jaw. Within seconds the trainer is down, the second one pointing a loaded arrow at the Tribute. If he could get out of this one, then he will truly be one of my favorite toys, as I'm curious to how he's going to do it. Darting his eyes, Jackson flips backwards into the pool, soaking himself and the training uniform, to which the final trainer jumps in after him. Standing up from my seat slightly, in an attempt to see what is going on; Jackson emerges with the trainer held tightly in a headlock. Tapping out, Jackson slowly releases him, before grinning wildly in our direction; we like this one.

"Leah Dagger," the female Tribute says, smiling sadistically, "Future Victor from District Two."

She swaggers on over to the knives station, yet doesn't select blades as we expect. Instead, the fiery Tribute from District Two pulls out a handful of throwing stars from the small bag. Ah, this should be entertaining; no Tributes since the Victor of the Seventy Third Hunger Games have been exceptionally skilled with them. Maybe there could be a Victor inside of Leah, bursting to come out, and if there is, I have every intention of brutally dragging her out by force. But Leah doesn't stop there, also pulling out some of the more slender knives. Walking back to the center of the room, a smirk is upon her face, when she suddenly does a back flip as if being attacked by an invisible foe. We see her do a jerky hand movement, not all too sure as to what the purpose is, and then Leah does a perfectly executed aerial; no one could deny that this girl was extremely flexible, probably from the illegal training. Throughout the session, it is relatively the same, with the jerky hand motions added in here and there. By the time Leah has deemed herself finished, she bows courteously, her eyes looking wildly around the room. It is only then that we realize that each one of the dummies had a throwing star or stiletto knife implanted in it.

"Jitz Low…," a sullen looking boy says, muttering something under his breath, "…District Three, like it really matters…"

Watching him over, it's hard not to wonder if he'll be a boring Tribute in the so far okay Private Session steak that's been going on. Slowly, as if he couldn't even be bothered to care about what was happening, Jitz grabs a couple of ropes and begins tying knots. Sighing slightly, it's made even worse when I finish my tea, giving me no more excuse to ignore the Tributes until the feast comes. If only everything hadn't been crumbling down lately, putting all the pressure on me. But that will be fine, as these are my Tributes, and if I say jump, they should automatically do so, not even bothering to ask the pathetic question of how high. By the time Jitz is done, an old song I was quite fond of, titled 'Love is Dead' has coursed through my head about three times. The Tribute from Three demonstrates how his trap would work, and while it is extremely effective, the negativity from Jitz has successfully lulled me off to sleep. Perhaps next year I'll make some excuse to not be present for this, as it is already beginning to become tedious. As he leaves us, we all nod to each other, knowing that he'll be receiving a mediocre score; I'm bored with my toys at the moment, I need some excitement from them.

"Malaya Finaca, District Three," Malaya says, a determined look on her face.

Some of the newer Gamemakers murmur, sitting up in their seats more, so they can better watch Miss Finaca. Ever since she Volunteered, and for no apparent reason at all, people have been taking a closer look at her. Of course, what most people could see what how unattractive she was, how different she looked, and how Malaya didn't look like their mental image of a Victor at all. But as a Gamemaker, we know to look for other things; we look for how the shoulders are held and in Malaya's case, they are confidently straight. A smile is visible on her face, but it is more determined than sweet, so I'm positive that we'll expect great things from her. Malaya's eyes glance over the room, before landing on the arnis sticks, her smile turning into an intimidating grin. Smirking a bit, we all lean forward in our seats, loving it whenever a Tribute chooses to demonstrate their skills with a more uncommon weapon. Motioning coyly for some a trainer to combat her, one of the younger Gamemakers actually leaps at the chance, still wearing his robes, his fists held up in a guard position; he used to be the combat instructor for the Tributes. Charging out at her with a jab, aimed straight forward, Malaya ducks and twirls the sticks in her fingers. For a couple of minutes, they keep in a pattern similar to this; he throws a powerful round kick, Malaya braces her arms with the sticks and knocks it down. Eventually, the trainer decides that he's had enough, throwing a superman punch straight at her jaw; Malaya handles it coolly, slipping the punch and lashing out with the arnis sticks on his undefended side. Stepping back to admire her handy work, the Gamemaker lays knocked out on the floor; he'll be pushing up daisies soon for that little stunt. I haven't given him permission to do so! Besides, the Tributes are even supposed to lay a hand on the Gamemakers, especially since the Fire Brat did so a while back; huffing, we dismiss Malaya, deciding to still give her a good score besides the broken rule, as it was not her fault at all for the foolishness of the _former _Gamemaker.

"Nicolas Riddle, District Four," a beautiful male with striking green eyes says, though his face looks grim as if something has been bothering him for a while; whatever it is, I wish to find out, so I may force him to face it in the arena if possible.

Just like Griffin had earlier, Nicolas goes the stereotypical path of using the sword for his scoring. Picking up a straight sword, not unique or special in anyway, the sword trainer steps forward once more with his khopesh once again. It was the one with the little gold inlay, and it did look very nice; the trainer didn't know that I'd be placing his prized possession in my beautiful arena. When he saw a Tribute using it, he may very well faint; I do look forward to it. This time, the trainer makes the first move, with a downwards cut aimed toward the thigh, which Nicolas parries excellently. Flipping up the tip of his own sword, the khopesh is sent flying, sticking out of one of the lights in the ceiling. Grinning proudly, the Tribute from Four raises his knee into the trainer's stomach, causing the latter to buckle to his knees, gasping for air from the unexpected hit. Pulling on the almost too long hair of the trainer, Nicolas poises the sword at his throat, a pained gurgling noise the only thing we can hear from the trainer. Sadness almost envelops me when Nicolas merely releases him, taking a courteous bow towards us and exiting the training facility.

"H-Hello, I'm Fialla Howards from D-District Four," a nervous looking girl with sweet brown eyes says, marching in right after her District Partner left.

Looking terrified, Fialla walks delicately, minding her back brace on her walk over to the axes. Selecting a small one, with little swirls and Celtic designs on it, Fialla approaches the target range for archery. Tossing the axe, it ends up impaled on the target, but on the outermost ring of it. She'll be a Bloodbath for sure, especially with her handicap, which will surely make her a target for the Career Pack; I don't believe that she had been able to make it in. Making a little 'oh' sound, Fialla threw another axe, with her aim only slightly improving. Turning around, her cheeks burning a bright red color, everyone had marked her down as the weak and innocent girl. That was until a knife appeared a few inches from my face, thrown skillfully from the hand of the District Four Tribute. Instantly, smirks appeared on each of the other Gamemakers faces; there is a Johanna Mason in our mist. But I, I pulled the dagger from the wall, looking in it like a mirror, with a single strand of white hair resting in my lap; I had a bad feeling about this girl. But searching my own face, I found it to be cold and uncaring, as if nothing could shake me up, and smirking cruelly for effect, the dagger dropped out of my own hand with a clatter. Fialla Howards had already left, yet I found that I wished she had shown us more, but at least we had gained a slight idea of her strategy; we will plan accordingly.

"I am known as Elezar Brewen. I hail from District Five, which the Capitol has designated to be the District of Power. Yet we really have no power, as our children go to sleep cold and aching, hunger filling their bellies. Our factories are dark and menacing, the only reprieve from their adventure being the blessed hand of death. Our adventure is one of sorrow and horror, an angst filled scene in a time of joy. But I have a dream! I have a dream that one day, the children of Panem will not be judged by their District, but by the content of their character. Two of my siblings, a brother and a sister, have already passed through this way, and it is now my turn to follow in their footsteps. But I am not afraid, for the only thing to fear is fear itself, and by that logic, a blissful existence is the way you must go. My name is Elezar Brewen, I am one of the people, I am one of you, and you are one of the Districts. Fighting and tragedy is not needed, as we are all family, we are all connected, and we will all see each other in the next great adventure. So when you ask me to show you my talents? When you ask me to strike down brother and sister? Well, there are only two answers that I can give you, and only one that the hand of destiny will allow me to. For I am Elezar Brewen, I am not afraid to die, and I will greet Death with a happy heart and open arms," the District Five Male said, "Thank you," and then he promptly exited the training room.

"Reina Vane, District Five," a tiny auburn haired girl announces quietly.

Quickly, she makes her way over to the plant identification station, not aware that we are all still thrown off by the actions of Elezar. Shaking my head slightly, tucking back a piece of pure white hair, I try to make myself focus on the task at hand, but it is not very easy to do. Easily, she whizzes through the test, identifying each and every plant correctly. A trembling smile is on her face, and then Reina turns to the knife station. Crouching low in a stance, Reina runs up to a dummy, representing a Tribute, and slashes at each major vein on it with the knife. Taking some of the red paint from the camouflage station, the girl from District Five draws in the blood, finally carving in a giant X when her work was done. Bowing her head slightly, the fire haired girl literally runs out of the room, quivering from fear and fright the entire time. Curiously, we all exchange glances, wondering if there could be a reason for her absurd behavior. Had someone done her harm? Glancing down at the files in front of me, with her mug shot of sorts from the Reaping, signs of angry hands were evident on her skin. Smirking, I prepared to make a special trip to the Mutation Team, that way we could get a lovely show out of Miss Reina Vane.

And if anything, we _must _have a show.


	19. Private Sessions Part Two

_Datura Gremlin (19), Head Gamemaker-POV_

A tall boy, with tan skin and dark hair, walks into the room. He has a lazy manner to him, as if he could hardly be bothered to show up during his Private Session; frowning slightly, I know he won't fare well in the arena unless he can actually back up his arrogance. Turning towards us, the Tribute from District Six identifies himself as Cassius Lisette, and so we give him permission to begin. First, he strutted on over to the snare making station, grabbing a few odd pieces of wire, along with other spare parts, before shoving them in his pockets. Curious as to what he's going to do next, all eyes were on him as he made his way over to the camouflage station. In a matter of minutes, we watched the gray eyed Tribute match the very color of the walls, seemingly disappearing into them. Smiling politely at him, as if to signal that his time was done, everyone flinched back at the tiny paint bomb that went off in the middle of the room. Ah, so that was what the wire and the extra paint, along with a tiny casing, had been used for; clever, but it won't do him much in the Games, unless he uses venom or gas, which I highly doubt that he will be able to get his hands on. Cassius' score is lowered a tad bit for the carelessness on his part, a quality which he has been displaying yet again and again. Stifling a yawn, I await the next Tribute, the female from District Six, to enter the room as Cassius exits.

"Maya Eberhart, District Six," a slim blonde states coolly, entering the training room gracefully.

Differentiating, thankfully, from the rest of the Tributes, Maya walks over to the track. Tacking a deep breath, with a trainer already prepped to time her, she takes off at lightning speed. Darting from side to side, swerving and ducking as if someone was attacking her, Maya ran the mile long track in impressive time. Raising an eyebrow, I couldn't wait to set something at her heels in the arena, to see if she could back up the show she just gave us. Skidding to a halt, the female Tribute ran back towards us, ending in an impressive forwards roll; the trainer nodded his head, holding up the stopwatch that read, plainly, '3:45'. Yes, we've found a very fast runner among us, but Maya didn't seem to be done yet, as she asked for a partner to spar with. An Avox stepped forward this time, walking up to her until they were in the close combat range, each of them completely weaponless. Grinning slightly, Maya feinted a knee, only to kick out behind her at the same time with her jab, causing the Avox to take a staggering step backwards from the superman punch. The girl from Six stepped forward at an angle with her left foot, spinning and picking up her right knee before ramming a sidekick into his gut. Gasping for air, the Avox never saw the snappy front kick coming, now lying sprawled on the floor. Bowing politely towards us, she pushed a lock of her blonde hair out of her face and exited the training facility.

"Axel Treefall, District Seven," a tall male growls; his eyes are an angry electric blue.

Axel, just like his name funnily suggests, heads over to the axe station almost instantly. Running his fingertips over the various blades, he soon picks up the largest and most gruesome looking one, swinging it over his shoulder before heading over to the camouflage station. Now what could he be doing? Is he going to disguise himself with that in his hand; not very likely that he'll be able to pull it off. He picks up the black, pink, brown, red, green and gold paints, swiftly walking over to the dummies now. Resting the axe against his foot, our view of his handiwork is obscured, but when he wipes off the excess paint on his training uniform, a couple of the Gamemakers start to chortle. Frowning, I was just about to order him to step aside when Axel does just that; the dummies are the Tributes from District One, Cashmere Combe and Griffin Holloway, in gruesome effigy. Cackling, my delight is only increased when he hacks away at them with his axe; yes, he is going to be my pet! Slicing towards the neck of the Griffin Dummy, stuffing floats through the head, and decapitating the representation of his foe. Red paint then oozes out from it, a disturbing but neat touch to this glorious artwork; perhaps if Axel became the Victor, he'd like to join the Gamemakers as one of us, and with his creativity, I am sure that we could expect great things from him. Still, my eyes narrow at the reminder that he is from District Seven, not permitting myself to enjoy his spectacle any longer, though I cannot help but smile when a piece of white fabric, painted gold, quickly falls to the ground. By the time Axel leaves, I have mixed feelings about this District so far.

"Juniper Griffin," a petite girl with curly blonde hair states, "District Seven."

The first thing she does shocks me slightly, watching her walk over to one of the Avoxes and whisper something in their ear. Upon finishing her request, Juniper smiles sweetly, almost causing me to vomit, as I immediately do not like this girl at all. The female Tribute from Seven reminds me of those peppy stylists and Escorts; I've always hated them, what with their silly little speeches and stupid tiny ideas about how the Hunger Games should work. My attention is turned briefly to the Avox, who has quickly made his way over to the control panel, activating a small force field around the area where Tributes practice climbing on actual trees. By the time he is done, a nod towards Juniper is set, with her standing in the midst of all of the trees, with only forty seconds until she must quickly leave or be trapped inside. Pulling out two small rocks, the blonde furiously strikes them together until a spark is visible, and sets it at the exact right stop on a tree. Juniper quickly runs out of the area, right when the force field clicks on, and the trees are quickly engulfed in flames. Interesting tactic; we give her a fair score for it, dismissing her and sending for the District Eight male.

"Abe Mercer, District Eight," a strong boy with dark hair announces, eying the smoldering remains of the trees almost warily.

Sitting back in my chair slightly, the feast for the Gamemakers finally arrives when he's going over to the sword station. Instantly, each person gets out of their chairs, a symphony of scrapes sound off, and I grab a younger one by the arm. Hissing my order to him, to which the little Gamemaker gulps, I smile almost innocently, positive that I'll get exactly what I wanted. As always, I never do quite hear again from the people who don't do as I say, and for that matter, no one else does either. Returning my attention to Abe, he's picked up the same sword the last person used, can't be bothered to remember the name, as Beata will have it all down in the notes. Eying us, as if wondering if we're paying attention, I send him a fixed look with a cruel smile, causing his eyes to widen slightly as if frightened. A row of dummies has been set up, right in front of the hazardous fire arena Juniper had been created, and Abe rushes quickly over to them. He slices diagonally across the chest of one, followed by a downwards cut to the head on the next one, and then a nicely placed jab into the stomach of another one. Twisting his sword as he pulls it out, it almost looks comical, being covered in fluff, but a bloodthirsty look is upon Abe's face, and I favor him for it. Throwing his sword as one might a spear, it's impaled in the target's upper body, but not quite in the heart, so we slightly deduct points for that. Dismissing him, we remember that the pregnant Tribute will be coming in next.

"Willa Hellmans, District Eight," the pregnant Tribute stated, sounding slightly out of breath, shaking slightly.

Some people glanced at each other, worried that she would be coming into labor soon. Beata handed me a slip of paper, which I quickly glanced down at, '_We'll take her to a doctor tonight- see if we can get those puppies out before the game. X Beata'. _Confirming my consent to that, each of us returned our attention to Willa. Hot tears escaped from her eyes, spilling all over her and clinging to her curly blonde hair. If we could get those babies out before the Games, then all of the protestors towards her participating would literally vanish, especially if we got someone high up to adopt the little weaklings. Oh yes, that would be a great story for publicity, and provide another reason for the never ending parties of the Capitol to continue on. Miss Hellmans started a meek fire with shaky hands, and then demonstrated where the major pressure points on someone where; her eyes drifted towards the knife station for only a brief second. I must have been the only one who saw her looking, and making sure that my expression was one of boredom, Willa exited the training facility with the air of a mouse that had been trodden upon, a slight trail of tears following her out. Stabbing the piece of roast beast the young Gamemaker set before me, with no little pieces of lemon on it, thankfully, I reflected over what score to give her. Probably meaning to do it, the Tribute from District Eight had placed me in a very tricky situation; I hoped the results said that she's going to pop any moment now. And if they didn't, well, I was going to have to be a bit creative on a method of evening the playing field slightly, though that itself is an incredibly impossible task; I don't really care though, as long as we would receive an epic Hunger Games this year.

An adorable little boy, who reminded me so much of Copper, walked in next, "Um…the lady told me to say I'm…Ebon Furial, from District Ten. No! District Nine! Ebon Furial from District Nine."

Smiling sweetly, as if he didn't have a clue in the world what was going on, Ebon ran over to the poison station. Selecting a couple of the particularly deadly ones, he placed the darts inside of the blow tube, which had been conveniently sitting next to it. Scrambling up like a squirrel, the little boy was quickly perched, and then he threw his voice. It was an impressive talent, one that I found pranksters mainly tended to develop, and what occurred next was all too amusing. Raising the blow tube to his lips, puffing out air at the exactly correct moment, little poisonous darts sprouted out of each and every dummy in the room. Sometimes, he'd throw his voice again, and then shoot towards the dummies who had supposedly figured that they had been safe from the onslaught. Overall, it was an amusing performance for one so young, so we all agreed to select and reasonable score for little Ebon Furial. By the time he ran out of darts, a chipper look appeared on his face, and he grabbed onto one of the climbing ropes. Glancing down, as if to make sure it was unhitched; Ebon sprang off of the ledge and swung. Clear across the room now, Ebon repeated the achievement again and again, demonstrating how incredibly hard it would be for the Career Pack to catch him. Sliding down the same rope that had carried him across, he grinned childishly as us before running out of the room; I bit back a smile.

"C-Cedar Tremaine, District N-Nine," a tiny and timid girl spoke softly.

Slowly, as if one of us might jump out at her in the process, Cedar makes her way over to the plant identification station. There's really no need, as a majority of the Gamemakers are stuffing their face, and even I am enjoying a little pile of lemon drops I discovered on my plate. An odd stickiness, combined with a sour filled sweetness, as caused me to become rather fond over them. The terrified girl answers all of the questions flawlessly, even explaining the difference between a Nighlock berry and an ordinary, safe to eat, berry of similar coloring. Smiling nervously, to suggest that she wasn't sure if we'd like this or not, Cedar then grabbed a poisonous berry. Breaking open the juices, she spilled it into a darkly tinted water bottle, similar to the kind that the Careers receive at the Cornucopia. Instantly, each one of us understands Cedar's strategy, the same one Cypress Junos had years ago, and decide to give her a low score, to help her in her task. As if it was an afterthought, she makes her way into the changing rooms, reappearing in the swimsuit ensemble that this year's styling team had created. Slipping her way into the pool, she demonstrates a survival float, followed by various types of swimming maneuvers. What sticks out to me the most is the low amount of splashing, and the very long period of time that she can hold her breath; peradventure that could be an asset to her in the arena. Miss Tremaine swims around for a while longer, probably to demonstrate her stamina, and climbs out. While she's amused as Ebon did, we do not see her to be a great contender in this Hunger Games.


	20. Private Sessions Part Three

_Datura Gremlin (19), Head Gamemaker-POV_

"Ether Lessing, District Ten," a timid faced ginger announced, walking inside of the training facility.

Nervously, Ether makes his way through the changing rooms, remerging on the other side. He reminds me of Cedar slightly, though the trembling, which I'm sure is there, is not visible at all from a distance. Hopping into the pool, he idly makes his laps back and forth, something which is boring us to death. Glancing over, one of the younger Gamemakers has even fallen asleep; smirking, I quickly grab a sharpie, doodling a design on his face for a punishment. Snickering, none of us are really watching Ether anymore, having seen enough, but I suppose that I should pay attention for the effect. If word gets out via Clark that the Tributes are being mistreated in the Capitol, well, someone will start a riot and demand for the Hunger Games to be postponed this year. Which will push back the Victory Tour as well, delaying the next Hunger Games, and all the Hunger Games that come after it; no one wants to see that. Jumping out of the pool, not even bothering to change out of the tiny article of clothing, Ether scampers down the mile long track. Impressive, as I've heard that they used to have contests similar to what the District Ten Tribute is demonstrating; perhaps we could find a way to have him face this in my beautiful arena. By the time that he is dismissed, my notebook is covered with brilliant new ideas, fresh and full of life, that should have multiple levels for the playing field. That is, if a Tribute is smart enough to discover the way out.

"Wednesday Vespers, District Ten," an auburn haired girl, her smile a cruel and secretive one, states as she comes inside.

Skipping over to the weapons, it's almost humorous to watch her, though it would have been better if her hair had been braided off to the side, instead of back. Fingering the knives, Wednesday shook her head, muttering to herself, and exclaimed with glee upon seeing the mace. Untouched and unused, we hadn't expected for anyone to have used it in their training session, but the petite girl from District Ten marched to the beat of her own drummer. A medieval model, one of my personal favorites, the spiked ball hung from a chain, which had been connected to a dark piece of steel. Heading towards the target range, Wednesday swung it above her head, and then brought it down on the poor and unsuspecting dummy. A large gash appeared in the neck of it, followed by another one in the lower thigh, and finally, Wednesday choked the life out of the poor thing by wrapping the chain around it and pulling, digging the spiked ball into it once more. Smirking, it was always amusing to see one of the less stable people Reaped for the Hunger Games, as they give it that certain spark which the citizens of our beloved Capitol do adore. Glancing back towards the destructive little boy, a wave of my hand sends an Avox off to get more dummies, in case the Tributes from the remaining Districts would like any left for their disposal. Dismissing Wednesday, I think I'll make sure that there will be a mace or two in the Cornucopia, even if it is likely that the Careers will be the ones to claim it.

"Persei Baxwoll," a dark skinned boy states confidently, "District Eleven."

Stepping in front of all of us, Persei proceeds into a slight speech, though it's not like Elezar Brewen's from earlier. Instead, he tells us all about how to tame animals, the steps needed to gain their trust, and exactly where and when to try to find them. However, the only thing I pay attention to in the little lesson is detesting edge to his voice upon mentioning the Mockingjays. Most of the Tributes in the Hunger Games tend to enjoy the birds, the one which have become the scorn and shame of us in the Capitol, but Persei doesn't follow the norm on this. Which, naturally, gives me a devious idea of seeing just how far his hatred will go, another idea pops into my mind and is transferred down onto the little notepad. Next, Persei wanders on over to the plant identification station, making it look as if it was as easy as basic arithmetic. Popping a harmless berry on his tongue, the Gamemakers eyes drift over to the food, but I hiss at them, merely from boredom and wanting to see their reaction, and they instantly snap back into place. Cackling as one of them turns as white as a sheet, I return my attention when Persei scopes up a slingshot, aiming skillfully at various targets around the room. Supposing that he learned those skills in District Eleven, it is only logical for him to be a natural at it, despite some Tributes that have favored the weapon in past years. Though we will give him the score that he deserved, as I watch Persei's retreating back, I can't help but which he had used poison in that slingshot instead of small stones. In the Hunger Games, it takes a boulder to win, a mountain to come out alive, and a pebble to be crushed in the onslaught.

"Tetra Comn…," a dark haired girl muses, "Funny name, Tetra. Sounds like Terror and Texture wrapped up into one package, with an abbreviation added on the end. Did you know that you are completely buying each and every act I do? Well, guess what; you are, and I find this to be highly amusing and stereotypical of you. Look! The so called greatness of the Capitol, reduced to a pile of baboons arguing over who would get the last piece of roast beef? Have you not had breakfast? Have you not been filling your stomach with fat for your natural, and unnatural, born lives? Have you- no, I shouldn't be asking too complicated questions like this, as they are beyond your understanding. I suppose I can play your pitiful little Games for now, but fire is catching, and if we burn, then you will burn with us. People have died from those words, but I don't really care anymore. I like this me, it's fun and daring, but of course you won't even begin to comprehend my psychological processes. So go on, eat your little cow, and I'll humor you by shooting at yonder archery range."

Narrowing my eyebrows, she comes off as another Elezar Brewen type of person, something which I hadn't expected to come from her. And more so, Tetra should have been fully aware to not quote the words of Katniss Everdeen, especially here, in the Capitol during her Private Session with the Gamemakers. What thoughts were going through her head? I'd find out soon enough, fully intending to unravel the curious girl from District Eleven until only a hollow shell stood in her place. But at that moment I would show mercy, allowing one of the other Tributes to take her life, and avoid her becoming the next Victor for District Eleven. Brooding other this, I almost miss the perfect series of arrows Tetra fires off, effectively mortally wounding or killing the lifeless dummies at the archery range. Bowing her head gracefully, the bow and arrow are placed down carefully, as to not damage them, and Tetra frolics her way out of the facility, leaving the rest of us severely confounded with her behavior.

"J-J-J…J-J-J…," a blonde boy stutters, staring up at all of us with wide eyes.

He had been the one who fainted the over day in training, I recalled, remembering how the trainers had had to break out the smelling salts. Even then, the District Twelve Tribute looked incredibly pale, so his Escort had come to fetch him, taking them back to their individual rooms. Well, I'm not going to say that Josh shouldn't feel afraid right now, as the score that he receives could very well be the difference between life and death in the arena for him. One of the other Gamemakers, Ara, had commented that none of the stations appeared to be something that Josh excelled at. Barely managing to get out his name, let alone District Number, Josh ran off into parts unknown of the training facility. Looking at a clock every now and then, we waited for him to do something, already seeing his incredible finding skills. No one had been able to tell where he had went as well, another problem to add to the list, and I knew that he'd probably take off for the more remote regions of my arena. It wouldn't matter to me though, as I'd just ensure that he would face off with the most bloodthirsty Tribute later on, to provide some drama. And not to mention, that would ensure that his sponsors would be clutching at their hearts and bank accounts, too. Sighing, a little finger motion towards two Avoxes, and a good ten minutes, if not more, of waiting, brought Josh Quick back to front and center. Shooing the terrified boy away, who gladly leapt for freedom from the spacious facility, I couldn't help but rejoice in the fact that my job was almost done. Only the District Twelve female and District Thirteen were left to go; the rebellious Districts.

"Rocky Nightlock, District Twelve," a sweet yet confident girl declares, marching in after her panicky District Partner had vacated.

The first thing Rocky did was demonstrate a series of snares, each one a little bit more complicated than the last. While some of them were designed for smaller prey, such as rabbits and squirrels, a couple of them could have even bested a wild dog. This, I must say, proved to be quite impressive, so we didn't score her down for the lack of might in the very first part of her Private Session. Grabbing a wickedly sharp knife from the weapons area, she jumped with a great splash into the pool. Now moving stealthily, the female Tribute jutted out at the water, as if trying to show us all the fish that she'd be sure to catch in the arena. While the theory was good, it would only help her if there were any streams in there; alas, my lips are sealed about the entire matter. Crouching up, Rocky Nightlock sprang out of the water, tossing the knife lightly, which then became impaled into a crevice in the wall. Clearly, she must have been a hunter, just like the late Mockingjay; no doubt illegally, as well. Not like I could really punish her, publically that is, as Rocky is under protection momentarily as a Tribute in the Hunger Games. And as the Seventh Quarter Quell, it won't be all too easy to replace a Tribute; hopefully she had an identical twin or something, but I suppose a clone would work as well. Nevertheless, I didn't want to go through all of the hassle of filing out the paperwork, so the huntress of District Twelve was left untouched. But that didn't at all mean that I wouldn't go harder on her in the Games; dismissing her, along with those thoughts for the moment, a small smile appeared on my face.

"Jet…," the angry boy paused, as if remembering his own name, "Newton. District Thirteen Tribute in the Seventh Quarter Quell."

Pausing once again, probably mentally going over his plans for the Private Session with us Gamemakers. Jet walked briskly over to the weapons, selecting two twin daggers, and then marching over to the dummies. His muscles tensed, as if whatever he was about to do was not at all what he should have done, and he carelessly jutted one in. Forcing a frown, Jet exerted a good majority of his strength trying to pull it out; so far the District Thirteen boy hasn't been able to impress us. Though his frame was trembling from the force required, no sweat appeared on him at all, something which I found to be most curious. Furrowing my eyebrows, the logical conclusion that Jet Newton was faking incompetence quickly crossed my mind, and then asserting a stronger hold on my attention span. Certainly, this Tribute should have known that he didn't have the correct frame nor attitude to pull a Johanna Mason, so this little stunt of his would be getting him nowhere. To me, it felt like the boy wanted to be seen as average, slashing and slicing at the dummies with the air of someone more towards the beginning of their training; it looked like a king disguised as a peasant, the only tip off being the regal look incased in their eyes. Biting my lip, the fresh flow of blood soon starting, as this is a frequent habit of mine to do when I'm wondering. Just who was this boy? I'd better find out soon, or he'll be dead before the gong even rings! Huffing, I hastily dismiss him before he has even finished hacking away at the row of dummies; only one more Tribute to go.

"Adia Loya, District Thirteen," the girl, another blonde haired one, states calmly, as if she doesn't have a single care in the world.

She requests a partner to spar with, though she has to repeat it a second time, as the other Gamemakers have crowded around the second course of our feast. Roast pork, laden with lemons and onions, along with various other seasonings, sits temptingly only a few feet behind me, though I don't dare go and find it. Right now, an odd feeling has been surging through me, as if I had temporally aged a hundred years from scoring Tribute after Tribute. Rubbing my eyes, again wishing that more tea had been placed before me, I must have been the only one watching as an Avox stepped forward to be Adia's partner. Doing her courtesy bow, an old Korean tradition, she smiles briefly at the Avox before snapping into her fighting stance. Aiming a jab towards his nose, the Avox effectively slips the punch, only to be knocked on the side of the head by a quickly aimed right hook. Shaking his head, probably to clear whatever dizziness he acquired, the Avox doesn't see Adia bring her foot down in an Axe Kick, knocking his guard cleanly down. Now, with a completely open target, Adia raises the same foot, chambers tightly, and snaps a roundhouse kick to his jaw, swinging her hips all the way through. Oddly enough, the Avox makes a weary attempt to stand up from his resting place on the ground, yet the blonde haired Tribute merely raises her foot again, as if to step on his head. A strange gargling noise comes from the Avox, which each of us interpret as a cry of mercy, to which Adia heeds. Pulling her long hair back into a ponytail, the District Thirteen female leaves the room more confidently, if possible, than she was when she had entered.

"Right, do you have the scores, Beata?" I questioned, though it was more of a command.

Jerkily nodding, the terrified Gamemaker quickly passed me the list, to which I scanned through. Adding and taking away a point here and there, the details became finalized, and our long, tiresome work had finally concluded. Tonight, the entire country of Panem would be able to truly bet on their favorite Tribute, merely based off of their scores. Though my father has changed some aspects of the Hunger Games over time, the private, completely so, sessions had never been altered. In fact, some of the Gamemakers here remember Katniss Everdeen perfectly; they are the ancient ones now, but had been the young and foolish Gamemakers back then. In those times, my uncle was a mere sponsor assistant, helping the people of the Capitol find the representatives of their favorite Tribute.

Training Scores

Griffin Holloway (17), District One: _**Nine**_

Cashmere Combe (15), District One: _**Eleven**_

Jackson Leo Ross (17), District Two: _**Ten**_

Leah Dagger (16), District Two: _**Ten**_

Jitz Low (14), District Three: _**Six**_

Malaya Finaca (15), District Three: _**Ten**_

Nicolas Riddle (16), District Four: _**Nine**_

Fialla Howards (14), District Four: _**Seven**_

Elezar Brewen (18), District Five: _**Twelve**_

Reina Vane (17), District Five: _**Six**_

Cassius Lisette (16), District Six: _**Six**_

Maya Eberhart (16), District Six: _**Eight**_

Axel Treefall (17), District Seven: _**Six**_

Juniper Griffin (17), District Seven: _**Four**_

Abe Mercer (14), District Eight: _**Seven**_

Willa Hellmans (18), District Eight: _**Three**_

Ebon Furial (12), District Nine: _**Seven**_

Cedar Tremaine (14), District Nine: _**Two**_

Ether Lessing (13), District Ten: _**Four**_

Wednesday Vespers (12), District Ten: _**Eight**_

Persei Baxwoll (14), District Eleven: _**Six**_

Tetra Comn (16), District Eleven: _**Twelve**_

Josh Quick (13), District Twelve: _**Three**_

Rocky Nightlock (14), District Twelve: _**Eight**_

Jet Newton (16), District Thirteen:_**Five**_

Adia Loya (16), District Thirteen:_**Eight**_


	21. Interviews D1 to D4

**If this is too much dialogue, I apologize, but it's hard when this is interviews, and not something like the Private Sessions. Also, these chapters are taking me longer than normal, and I believe that the reason for that is obvious…**

_Cashmere Combe (15), District One Female-POV_

Standing behind the stage, the other Careers surrounding me, I smooth down my dress, awaiting Clark Hallen to give me the signal to come out for my interview. It's a short blue number, complimenting my skin tone perfectly, with a tail attached to the back of it. Spreading around me in a half moon, it reminds me of the feathers of a peacock. Around my luxurious black hair is a green ribbon, dark blue boots reach up to my calves, and when partnered with stunning makeup, I look just like the majestic bird that my stylist intended me to. My interview angle Julius Le Omen, my Mentor, selected for me was shy yet brave. No doubt Clark would be questioning me all about my training score, though, as I received the best one out of the entire Career Pack.

"And without further ado, let's bring out District One's Cashmere Combe!" Clark bellowed out, causing the audience to burst into cheers.

Stepping delicately out onto the stage, a small smile is plastered on my face. Upon reaching Clark, he eagerly shakes my hand before indicating me to sit down in the seat. A ruby red cushion, the entire thing is covered with swirls and stars, with little gold tassels hanging below my feet. The floor is covered in a cool tile, the reason that my feet seemed to click when I walked, but that's all I have a chance to observe. Clark Hallen is ready to commence the interview, his golden hair swept off to the side, and his shiny white teeth shown in a charming smile; no wonder the ladies in the Capitol go nuts over him.

"I must say that you do look wonderful, Cashmere. May I call you Mere?" Clark asks, his baby blues looking crystal clear.

"All right," I said quietly, "Thank you, Clark."

People do say that the interviewers always try to help out the Tributes, and I do believe that they are right. After watching several Hunger Games, it's become obvious, painstakingly so. Alas, I don't think I'll have any problems with making my interview angle look appealing to the people here, even if it's not want they would find typical of a Career. Oh well, I'm going to win the Hunger Games anyways, so it will not matter all too much. Too bad he'll have to die as well; I think I'll miss him; I'll miss him more than I really should. Yet throughout my own interview, I found that my mind didn't drift towards him all too much, instead being free to think what I like, and say what I think is right.

"So tell me, Mere, how are you enjoying the Capitol so far?" he asks, relaxing back in his own chair, which is identical to mine.

"Well…," I paused, mulling over my words, "It's very big…and full of wonderful things and beautiful people. I think that I'd like to live here one day…"

Grinning, Clark nods, "I know exactly what you mean. It's a never ending party! Am I right, folks?"

Instantly, the audience hoots out their approval, and I smile sweetly out at them. Soaking it up, they already adore me, despite the shyness that I have been displaying so far. As soon as they quite down, Clark returns his stellar like focus to me, reminding me very much of his grandfather, Caesar Flickerman, who had used to run the interviews for the Hunger Games. In fact, he had even been the one to interview the Mockingjay and Haymitch Abernathy.

"You received an Eleven for your training score; very impressive! Mind telling us how you were able to do that, Mere?"

Glancing up at the Gamemakers, the white haired one scowling down at us all, and I have to remind myself that it is completely private, "Oh…I suppose I could tell you how I received that score. It's all rather simple, and the bottom line is that I am going to win, and none of the other Tributes are going to be able to get in my way."

My competitive edge showed through the mask right there, but I didn't care, returning back to my sweet smiles and shy looks. Right when Clark is going to reply to that, the buzzer rings, signaling that our time is done. Standing up out of my chair, to which the interviewer tells me that it's been a pleasure, the audience is cheering as I vanish off of the stage. Returning to the Careers, Nicolas doesn't look all too happy with me, but I playfully bat my eyes at him, making my message clear. I may be a nice girl, but no one, and I mean no one, is allowed to mess with me.

_Griffin Holloway (17), District One Male-POV_

"And now for Griffin Holloway of District Two, let's make him feel welcome, people!" Clark announced, beaming out at the audience.

Stepping out from behind the curtain, a broad grin plastered onto my face, I make my way over to Clark leisurely. Today, my stylist dressed me in a suit, the same exact color as Cashmere's dress coincidentally. Randomly, it would sparkle, not even needing the light to do so, and it still managed to give off a sophisticated aura. However, the crowning piece was the small concealable device placed in my mouth, making my teeth literally sparkle with each smile I threw towards the Capitol woman. Doing so right now, a couple of them started fanning themselves, a delicate blush rising up and out of their rosy red cheeks.

"It's good to be here, Clark," I said as I sat down, flashing out another dazzling smile.

"Likewise, Griffin," the interviewer replied, "So tell me, why did you Volunteer for the Hunger Games? I'm sure I'm not the only one who's curious about it."

A tear glistened down my face, "Well…You see, Clark, I'm not doing this for me, or anyone alive for that matter. M-my mother passed away, and it had been her dying wish for me to win the Hunger Games. How could I, let alone anyone, deny that plain request? It would be shameful of me not to…"

While some of that had been true, half of it was a cold lie. When my mother had died, she had wanted me to Volunteer for the Games when I was eighteen years old, not seventeen. But I'd make sure to fulfill my vow, the entire reason that I had Volunteered a year early, just in case I wouldn't make it in this year. It was a safety net of sorts, to ensure that I would be able to win the Hunger Games, and go down in history, but more importantly, appease my mother's spirit. In my mind, when we die, we go to a magnificent place, full of riches and wonder, which some of the Christian kids in District Two call Heaven. And though I don't mind dying, as it is a risk for participating in the Hunger Games, I am confident that I will win, as I have no other option that will fulfill my vow.

"Wow…," Clark whistled, astonishment evident, "You must have really loved her, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," I responded, my voice purposefully weak, "All I want to do is appease her, that way she may finally rest in peace. There's not really much else that I can say, Clark, but that I cared deeply for my mother, and I hope that she's in a better place right now."

"What do you think she'd say if she saw you right now, Griffin? Would she be proud of you?" Clark questioned, leaning forward in his seat to grab the carefully placed box of tissues.

Pausing, "I think she'd say: 'Griffin, you're everything I could have dreamed you to be. You've made me, and your father too, so proud. Take good care of Alura for me, Griffin dear.'"

Flashing into my mind, Alura smiled up at me sweetly. I'd have to win for her, too, I thought, that way she wouldn't have to grow up without a father figure. There was so much riding on me winning the Hunger Games, so much that I can gain, yet so much that I could lose. Was the risk really worth it? A small voice in my head said no, but my own, much louder one, said yes. It would be always worth it to grant my mother's dying wish; if it wasn't, then nothing in the world meant anything at all, to anyone. All of the names in my family were designed to strike fear, and once I've accomplished my win, it would become Alura's turn to follow in our footsteps. After all, her name was a play on the word 'alluring' and from the way she's been growing up, she'll look just as beautiful, if not more, than Cashmere does.

"I'm correct in guessing that Alura is your little sister?" Clark requests.

"Spot on. Alura is my younger sister, and eventually, she'll be a Victor of the Games as well. It's the least we could do for our mother, to honor her instead of honoring ourselves or District. But needless to say, I expect to be talking to you very soon, Clark. You can count on it," grinning sadly at him, the buzzer goes off, ushering me out of my seat and off the stage.

_Leah Dagger (16), District Two Female-POV_

"Now for District Two's striking Leah Dagger!" Clark calls out, giving me my cue to come onto the stage.

Wearing a tight, not to mention short, purple dress, I toss my red hair over my shoulder as soon as I'm in the public eye. Batting my eyelashes, which have been coated with thick mascara, the eye shadow a dark purple color that matches the dress. My hair's been curled, slightly braided at the front, and black combat boots are my favorite part of the entire ensemble. The male population loves it, so I place my hand on my hips, striking a pose which sets them wild. A couple flowers are tossed in my direction, a deep red colored one catches my attention, and I stick it inside of the dress, that way it's pressed up against my chest. Laughing musically, my hair is tossed one more time, just to leave them wanting more, and I take my seat down next to Clark.

"Wow!" Clark enthuses, almost rendered speechless, "Those stylists of yours sure outdid themselves, Leah!"

"They did, didn't they?" I muse, chuckling slightly.

Blinking slightly, as if to clear his head from the show I've been giving them, Clark finally starts my interview, "So, tell me, Leah, what are your thoughts on the Tributes this year? Anyone we should look out for?"

Rolling my eyes playfully at Clark, I briefly think through my answer before responding to his dull question, "Well, there is this really strong girl in the Hunger Games. She has long red hair, blue eyes, and a killer attitude. And no, I'm not talking about Reina Vane- she'll be dead in the Bloodbath if I have a say in it. Oh and this girl is wicked with just about each weapon, especially…Well, that's for me to know, and everyone else to find out, now isn't it?"

Clark's eyes widen comically, "Don't say no more. I'm already pretty sure that you could take me in a heartbeat!" he chuckles, "I probably need to hit the gym, don't I folks?"

The audience laughs, watching Clark who flexed the muscle that he certainly did not have. A couple of them yelled out that he looked fine the way he was, but some of them were encouraging him to go work on. Thinking up an idea quickly, knowing that my time would be over shortly, and I needed to be able to impress as many sponsors as I possibly could. After all, I needed to get back to Matt somehow, and if I didn't have the financial backing, anything could happen to me in the arena; I might even lose the Hunger Games that way. If that happened, my brother wouldn't last longer than a week, with Thomas taking his rage out on him, no doubt. There was no way I wanted him to turn out like that pathetic Reina Vane, quiet and nervous all of the time, as if she didn't have any confidence in herself. How could I person live like that? Exactly, a person couldn't, so the determined look on my face grew.

"You know what, Clark?" I started, and would have continued if he didn't realize my question was rhetorical.

"What is it, Leah?" he asked curiously.

"Once I win the Hunger Games, I'll train you," I replied, smirking sexily, "We can start off slow, twenty sit ups, pushups, and squats a day. Then, as you improve, we can go up to thirty, and start hitting some bags. Eventually, you'll be able to do a set of hundred no sweat, and you'll be training like a Tribute! Sound good, eh?"

Clark chuckles, "You might want to take the zero out of those numbers. I'm pretty sure I can only do two of each! And that's on a good day!"

Ignoring that comment, despite having laughed a bit myself at it, I said, "I don't know, Clark, you _totally _look in good shape to me."

"I'll take your word for it Leah…," he paused, glancing up at the timer that says that our interview will be done in about twenty seconds, "Before you go, how about you tell us about home? How's life in the day of the dazzling Miss Dagger?"

What was I supposed to tell him? That I was abused each day by Thomas, a person who I was supposed to be related to? Should I tell him that my mother had been murdered, that she hadn't fallen like I had been forced to tell the Peacekeepers? My mind flickers again to Matt, the only person who could truly bring a smile out of me, and one that didn't scream bloodthirsty. I didn't think that Clark would be able to understand, but maybe Thomas was watching right now, so I could give him a tiny piece of my mind. A niggling suspicion told me that any anger would be taken out on my brother, but I didn't care right now, as the spark of anger had ignited into a huge flame; we all know you cannot stop a catching fire.

"A person who is supposedly my father abuses me every day. He murdered my mother," I let the words hang in the air, giving a steely look into the camera, and I'm positive that I have a close up right now, "My little brother, Matt, is alone with him right now. I want to come home, that way I can give Matt a better life. And…I want you to know that I hate you, _Dad, _I hate you and I always will! In fact…I'll kill you for what you did! I'll kill you for my mother! Eh, _Thomas?_ I'm not some weak little girl! I _am _coming hope and I'll stop you for good this time!"

_Jackson Leo Ross (17), District Two Male-POV_

A stunned silence greets the end of Leah's interview, but when the buzzer goes off, they all return to their avid cheering as if nothing had ever happened. Slightly bewildered, I didn't even know all about that, but I pushed it out of my mind when I heard Clark's voice bellow across the stage again.

"Jackson Leo Ross of District Two, come on out!"

Unlike the Tributes from District One, our styling team went for a more simplistic look. Today, they had dressed me in a plain black tuxedo; there wasn't anything special about it. Even though it wasn't nearly as flashy, my copper colored hair stuck out and drew everyone's attention. And my eyes, of a similar color, may have very well had their own spotlight, pointed directly at them for all to see. Grinning cockily out at the audience, throwing a few winks to some of the richer looking women, and men as I don't know their preference, as I made my way over to Clark Hallen. Grasping his hand, shaking it firmly, I have a good feeling about my interview as I sit down in the red chair; I'll be sure to gain loads of sponsors from this.

"Jackson Leo Ross, that's quite a mouthful," Clark commented good naturedly, "Is that your full name? Or do you have two first names?"

"Oh, just call me Jackson," I reply, "Or Victor, if you want, though you won't have to do that until my next interview."

Laughing slightly, "We'll get along all right, Jackson. So, how about you tell me about your sister, Mariah? What was that all about?"

Recalling the fury, the hatred that Mariah had felt towards my District Partner wasn't all too hard to do. Everyone in our family always did know that she had a mouth on her, but I don't think I've ever seen it run that much. For the most part, my sister was just my sister, just someone who'll probably enter herself into the Hunger Games next year. However, a funny feeling tells me that she'll be stopped from doing so again; I don't want to be around when she loses her top. Last time, before the Reaping, that it had happened, her boyfriend had just dumped her; he hasn't been the same since.

"My sister has had a dream of being in the Hunger Games. So, it was natural for her to be a bit disappointed that she couldn't enter as soon as possible. But hey, I'm going to be the one winning it anyways, so it's actually a good thing Mariah didn't get to come," I paused, chuckling slightly, "Though, I can bet my life that Mariah will be sitting on this stage next year. You guys better watch out for her!"

"Don't worry, I will!" Clark assures me, before changing the subject yet again, "We didn't ask this of the District One Tributes, as District Two traditionally leads the pack, but who is in the Careers this year? I know I'm dying to know!"

Looking towards the Pack, who sit clustered together behind the stage. Malaya has a calculating look on her face, as if she's going over the final details on what she's going to say in her interview. Griffin and Cashmere each appear to be bored, with Leah smirking slightly while eying some of the younger Tributes. The last of the Career Pack, Nicolas Riddle, is watching someone, but I can't make out who it could be. Following his gaze, I find the largest alliance, besides us, and I doubt that he'd been paying any special attention to any of them; Nicolas swore to us that he didn't even care for his tiny District Partner. Somehow, it makes me feel as if none of them are going to last very long, with the exception of Leah, as I know she's got the skills from our training sessions at home.

"Oh…," I say, my voice sounding dull and bored, "Combe, Holloway, Dagger, Finaca, Riddle, and myself."

"Finaca? As in Malaya Finaca? How'd she make it in?" Clark asks, curiously.

Frowning slightly, I can't help but hate that Malaya didn't receive a poor score. That girl from District Three did well, almost too well for a legacy Tribute. Sure, her gramps had won the eightieth Hunger Games, but that doesn't mean that Malaya would have been training twenty four seven. As far as I knew, only District One, Two, and Four actually wanted to be in the Hunger Games, with District Thirteen as a borderline Career District. The army for the Capitol is situated there, so we've been trying to get them to join the Careers for almost one hundred years, but the Mentors keep denying the invitations to join.

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" I question, my voice tight and controlled so the hatred wouldn't show, "I don't see why you'd waste time with me with a guaranteed kill's alliance choices."

Pausing, Clark is about to say something else when the buzzer goes off abruptly. It didn't feel like I had received my three minutes of time, but I heard that it happens that way in the interviews sometimes. Perhaps I had spent too much of my time reflecting, winking towards the crowd, and playing up my interview angle of cocky and confident. Standing up from the chair, the smirk returns to my face, as I wave outwards towards the cheering and adoring crowd. They don't know that I had been bothered by the last question, as all of their social cues must have vanished from their memory after living in this place for so long.

"I'll be back soon, folks," I promise, "After all, it's the only way I can really beat my father!"

_Malaya Finaca (15), District Three Female-POV_

Standing behind the stage, I've run over my plans one last time and I'm confident that I'll succeed. My stylist, whom I detest, has dressed me again in something that had made me appear to be appealing. Impossible, that's what I had thought when the thickly accented man had informed me, but apparently he had been able to pull off these miracles again and again. Glancing behind me briefly, Jitz stands off all on his lonesome, and I pity him for it; I'd actually taken a liking to the sullen boy. If I hadn't had other plans, I may have proposed an alliance, but it doesn't help me at all to be thinking that way; it'll only make me regret my actions.

"You all remember her great-grandfather, so we're sure you'll love District Three's Malaya Finaca!" Clark cheers, signaling the audience to begin to do so as well.

Stepping out, the dress I'm wearing dazzles as the light catches it. It's very figure flattering, turning my athletic build into a beautiful hourglass shape, another thing that I didn't believe that anyone could have done. The gown is a long one, covered with glittering diamonds, which is the reason that they give off a silver sparkle with all the flashes of light coming towards me. Once again, they had dyed my hair a thicker color of brown, explaining that it would bring out my natural beauty. Though I had insisted on no makeup, mascara adorned my eyelashes, making them look full and voluminous. Smiling out at the crowd, I make my way towards Clark as quickly as I could without tripping; they had placed me in awful six inch heels, though no one could see them from the length of the dress.

"Woah! You nearly blew me away seeing you, Malaya!" Clark enthuses, "You clearly inherited your great-grandfather's good looks! Why, we almost had to pull him up again to see his boyish charm!"

On the inside, I'm frowning slightly, even if I love my grandfather, "That's actually why I'm here, Clark. The very reason that I Volunteered to be the newest Quarter Quell winner, after Alecto Cobalti won the last Quell."

Instantly, Clark perks up, and I know that I had hit the exact topic that he had wanted to talk about, "Clearly, you are a very intelligent and beautiful young lady, Malaya. Mind telling us more on your choice to come into the Hunger Games willingly?"

In my head, I can easily picture my far more pretty family. For being ugly, for being me, they had punished and abused me frequently. Not as much as Reina, who we could all tell by just looking at her, but just enough that I wanted a way to escape. Though not to escape from them completely, but to escape from the ridicule, to get them to realize that you do not have to be beautiful; that you're okay just the way you are. Taking a deep breath, it's right now that I have to break the ice, to get my point across and hopefully win a sponsor or two along the way.

"People think that they're better because you're pretty…I'm not pretty. I'm ugly; I know that. And that's why I Volunteered for the Games; I'm not beautiful, but I'm proving that you don't need beauty to win. All you need is you," I told him, staring into the camera and out at the millions of citizens in Panem.

A stunned silence greets my little speech. Of course, it would only be expected here in the Capitol, where vanity is one of their top priorities. Would they be able to understand what I'm trying to tell them? Possibly; the likelihood of it happens to be a statistic that even I don't wish to dwell on. Somewhere though, watching through a screen, sits the abusive family who also couldn't understand. The people who I loved, yet detested for the angry marks they left, just because I wasn't as physically appealing as they happened to be. No one should have the right to do that to a human being; no one at all. Whatever was running across their minds right now, I hoped that they had finally gained the knowledge I had, and maybe they would when they saw what I had accomplished in the arena; that I had won the Hunger Games.

"I couldn't possibly agree more, Malaya," Clark comments, finally finding his voice again, "And did this have anything to do with how you were able to join up with the Careers?"

"Well, they were short a member and I asked them. Obviously, my training score is enough to prove that I am highly capable," I reply, smiling slightly as if it had been the cleverest thing in the world.

You see, almost the entire thing is a lie. I'm not going to join the Careers; I just wanted the protection from being killed too early in the Games. By thinking that I'm on their side, they won't be as prone to come after me when I slip away during the Bloodbath. Sure, after about a day they ought to realize that I'd flown the coop, but I'll be far away by then. All in all, it puts me one step closer to becoming the Victor of the Hunger Games. In fact, Jackson had even given some tips on swords to me, which will surely become handy in the Games.

As the buzzer rings, I can't help but feel smug as I walk off the stage, leaving the Capitol wanting more. Yet more importantly, leaving the Career Pack completely and totally clueless as to my plans; This, I believed, would be easy.

_Jitz Low (14), District Three Male-POV_

Huffing slightly to myself, Malaya whizzes by me to resume her place by the Careers. Idiot, didn't she know that they'd kill her? In fact, that's what I believed would happen to every stinking alliance in this place, no matter how much they thought that they trusted each other. It's all going to go down to who holds the knife in the end. Rarely did an alliance not kill themselves off, and that's usually because some other Tribute did the dirty work for them. We're all going to die in this arena; my emotions have been fluctuating on how I feel about it. Sometimes, I don't care that I'm going to my doom, but at other times, it tends to matter a lot to me. But right now, there is no way I want to be placed six to seven feet underground and mourned each and every Reaping day by my family. Knowing my mother, however, she'd make a positive thing out of and pull some spiritual crap, like the boy from Five would.

"District Three's Jitz Low; let's make Jitz feel welcome!" Clark says cheerily, wasting precious energy that we could have used for a more proper and beneficial purpose; they always disregard resources in the Capitol if it doesn't aid the tears of children.

Sighing at their painful enthusiasm, I reluctantly make my way forward. Boringly, they had dressed me in plain black slacks, crisp white shirt, and tie. Though, it didn't really matter to me whatever I wore right now, as there had been literally no point to it whatsoever. Sponsors may send in money, but they might not; Mentors may release gifts to us at the right moment, but they might not. Something may happen, but that something may not, and if you think about things that way, it is then that you can truly understand my true luck. This is, in case you haven't noticed already, horrible beyond compare. The bug that it splattered beneath a shoe, mercilessly, must have had more karma points than I, for I'll be tortured before given release in only a few days time. Whatever someone said, my mother is completely wrong, and will most likely stay that way for the duration of my days, though admittedly it isn't all too long.

"Hello Jitz!" Clark pipes, "Sit down, sit down!"

Hovering a bit, to make it clear that I don't appreciate his happy demeanor, I take the lavish chair slowly. Scowling at him, as if I had been forced to sit on a den of pythons, a part of me thought that Clark had gulped. Good, the interviewer would learn that I wasn't some hippie Zen child that they had dug out of the forest. Nope, people classified me as the ever so morbid Jitz Low, the one that they'd probably never see anyone like again, so they best pay attention. There won't be any song and dance coming out of me; no hideous monkey act that the other Tributes would undoubtedly put on.

"So…Jitz," he hesitates, the smile on his face fading a tad bit, "Anything you like about the Capitol?"

"No," I reply, "There is nothing to enjoy about this place. It's too loud, too noisy, it's grim and grueling, and quite frankly, each person here has an I.Q. lower than that of an ant. A dumb ant at that."

Clark blinks, as if he can't believe that I had the nerve to say that, and oddly enough bursts off laughing. As if on cue, the stunned audience joins in, probably mistaking my insult for a witty joke. Witty? I may be clever, but no one had ever believed me to be so. Rolling my eyes, I cannot wait for the buzzer to come off, to free me from these stupidly simple minded people. They would all be killed in the Bloodbath; Reaped just like the fresh meat back in my District should have been instead of me. Instead of sending me off to a hellish death, laughing and jeering and cheering on whoever would get the 'honor' of being my murderer.

"I'm not joking," I cut in, silencing their laughter, "Each and every one of you are complete imbeciles. A small percentage of you have even looked at a book, and a smaller percentage has even read one. Now, tell me how I am supposed to enjoy my time here? Am I supposed to laugh with the people sending me to my death? No. I am going to enjoy shredding down each and every bit of your-"

The buzzer interrupts me, sounding hasty to cut off the demoralizing words I had read out to the Capitol. But as I walked off of the stage in silence, I finished my sentence in my mind with a glare.

_-self esteem until there is nothing left but the hollow shell, until the only thing left is what you really are…_

_Fialla Howards (14), District Four Female-POV_

After Jitz waltzed his way off of the stage, everyone seems a bit desperate for me to be a more normal Tribute. Well, what they actually want is someone to make the Capitol people feel good about themselves, despite that they were the ones who created the Hunger Games. Breathing in deeply, I smooth the girlish dress that they stylist had selected for me, hoping that it would play along with my angle of cute and likeable. Pink accents were the only decoration on the yellow gown, which came out slightly like a typical princess dress and stopped at my knees. It had almost been smothering, making my tiny and miniscule form appear to be even more so; just the way my Mentor, Tia, wanted.

"Next up, we have the sweet Fialla Howards, hailing from the lovely District Four!" Clark Hallen announces, clearly trying to draw any lingering thoughts from Jitz's interview out of the Capitol citizen's heads.

Smiling widely out at the crowd, a blush graces my cheeks as I stumble slightly in the heeled shoes. Even if they were going for the innocent child approach, that hadn't stopped them from putting me in super high white shoes, humming and joking about something called a Labor Day rule while they did it. In District Four, we didn't care much about fashion, so I didn't expect to understand whatever the kind people in my Prep Team were chatting about. Gracefully, for once, I sit down on the red chair, my feet not quite reaching the ground. Blushing slightly, the entire audience seems to be smiling up at me, but no one has a grin on their face as broad as Clark's.

"Adorable as always, Fialla. Or do you prefer Fi?" Clark says looking friendly and relaxed despite the rather large age gape, which most people wouldn't have reached across for a chat.

"I don't mind which," I respond politely, "My friends call me Fi, and I suppose you're a friend, Clark."

"Yes!" Clark bursts out, "I'm friends with Fi Howards! Everyone is jealous of me now, right folks?"

People roar out their consent, causing me to giggle and smile even more. They've already adoring me, that much is clear, so the entire getup for my interviews is almost overkill. But I don't really mind right now, as this feels as if I'm in an entire room with my friends; it feels even better than my daydreams about Nico. A ripple goes through me, thinking about his beautiful sea colored eyes, and the very way they seemed to sparkle in the twilight. Pausing myself before I swooned, I heeded my oldest ally's words, reminding myself that I didn't need him to be happy; I couldn't be sure if it was working or not.

"All right, back to the interview!" Clark reprimands, snapping my attention back to him, "How about we start off by talking about your family, Fi? Got any siblings? Favorite relatives? Or…Someone special, eh?"

Stuart's face comes to mind, his grubby little hands clinging to Kallice as much as he could; he never really did that to me. My older sister smiles down at me, but the look is slightly wary, as if I am a stranger to her. Even if Kallice is six years older than I, it is all too easy to remember the time that we were like two peas in a pod; I really wish that things could be like that again. And even my younger brother, the one who spends so much time out at sea, is the one that Kallice feels closer to. Really, Aunt Shorrie resembles a sibling to me, an older sister that loved to gossip and tell spooky stories when the lights are low. My actual sister never really did that, I realized sadly, and tried to not look bummed out in front of each living citizen of Panem. Someone out there might be thinking about sponsoring me, so it would be better if I kept up the positive, instead of the negative like Jitz had done before me. Recalling again how Clark had asked about someone special, Nico's face flashed into my mind, yet it disturbingly wore a smirk, differentiating from my previous daydreams.

"I have a little brother, Stuart, who is only eight. I don't really get to see him that much, as he practically lives on the boat, fishing and all so we can have enough to eat…My sister who's twenty, Kallice, is an athletic and intellectual type, meaning that she'd do better than I ever could in the Hunger Games," I pause slightly, letting the truth of the words sink in briefly, "My aunt, Shorrie, lives with us too. She's a bit of a romantic, but an older sister to me in a way…"

"Yet no one special, Fi?" Clark presses, no doubt wanting the juicy details that don't exist.

Blushing, I remind him, "I'm only fourteen years old…And the guy doesn't even realize it…I doubt that he ever will…"

Hoping that he'd realize what I meant, without having to turn me into one of those star-crossed lovers, it seems that the universe is bent against me at this moment. Elezar talked briefly on that, how certain things were supposed to happen to certain people for certain reasons; while I understood a bit of it, I mainly noted that he likes to use the word 'certain' a lot. Sighing slightly, I can only watch as Clark goes forward in his seat slightly, asking the question that I knew he would ask from the moment I carelessly blurted out about Nico.

"Why is that, Fi? I'm sure he'd date you if you win! Right?" Clark states, not quite seeing the predicament that I'm in.

"But for him to know, Clark, I'd have to be dead…"

_Nicolas Riddle (16), District Four Male-POV_

Wearing a lame tuxedo, plain black and white, I impatiently await my cue to go onstage. Clark and Fialla still sit there, chattering on and on about the pros and cons about the Capitol food. My District Partner, but by no means ally, should have had her turn finished by now, that way I could have my shot at going out and impressing the sponsors. After what has felt like an eternity, they reluctantly tell Fialla that her time is up, ushering her off the stage so I can come over. Cracking my neck and knuckles, another short period of waiting occurs, as I actually have to wait for formal invitation from Clark Hallen to walk over. Cheering in the audience dies down after a bit, when Clark clears his throat to continue on with the other interviews.

"Nicolas Riddle, the other District Four Tribute!" Clark calls out, at which I practically spring out from behind the curtains.

Cheering erupts once again, even more so as I smile cockily and wink at some of the women. It's a standard routine for a Career, but only because of its supreme effectiveness at earning boatloads of sponsors. Crossing my legs, almost as if I didn't have a care in the world, I laid back and stared down my interviewer. Bursting with energy, no doubt just as bubbly as every other Capitol citizen, I didn't relish my opportunity to talk with the ever so famous interviewer. Other people might have been appalled by this, but it hasn't bothered me in the very slightest.

"Let's get down to business, eh Nic?" Clark states, not really asking a question, and then continues, "I remember when your father won the Hunger Games, so how about we start with that. How's life for the fabulous child of a beloved District Four Victor?"

"Pretty good, Clark," I admit, "Though my mother isn't a very big fan of the Hunger Games, Sapphire, my sister, and I get to just about whatever we want. We get to handle all the weapons we can back home, eat all the food we want, sleep whenever…it's a never ending party that whipped me into shape for becoming the next District Four Victor, after Tia Eerie won the Games three years ago."

It would be almost shameful to live in District Two, I recalled, as their last Victor had been Runa Stone. The vixen from the masonry District had won the One Hundred Sixty Ninth Hunger Games, meaning that five years had passed without a Victory for that District. At this rate, they may forfeit their place in the Career Pack to the Tributes of District Thirteen, who have been showing promise lately. Of course, that Newton kid became an exception to the rule, but the score Adia had received made up for it greatly. Shaking my head slightly, an unwelcome intrusion comes into my mind.

My crush is standing there, sand covering her tiny little toes as she's laughing musically. Unlike the other girls in the District, it doesn't sound so much as like a tinkling bell, but an orchestra of the most beautiful sound that I had ever heard: happiness. Warm brown eyes soft with amusement, metal glinting slightly in the sun, all causes my knees to go weak; fortunately I'm not standing up at the moment. Right now, all I really want to do is clear my head and go back to my interview, to focus in on whatever garbage is spewing out of Clark's mouth about my chances of winning the Games. But like the spell of an evil witch, there never really did appear to be any good ones, I couldn't shake the vision out of my head. A blade then was discovered, coming out of nowhere, and now wrapped tightly in her dainty little hand with a hidden fury.

_"You killed me, Nico! You killed me!" _she shrieked, driving the blade that didn't exist into me, snapping myself from the odd vision when Clark had already started another sentence.

"-allies. Mind telling us about that?" had been all I had the fortune to catch, meaning that I'd have to think up something fast or look like a weak and distracted Tribute in front of the sponsors.

Thinking back to my interview angle, I practically spit back a response, "No. None of this is needed; all of them are weak, even my allies. They're all going to die from my hand and mine alone! My little sister could take all of them in her sleep, so why couldn't I?"

Sapphire comes to mind once again, the way she could just fall in love with a song, something that I could never do. With me, all I'd really cared about had been training; I'd even used it as an emotional output. If my younger sister had been her, then it would have been plain to see that her blue eyes were a deeper color than each varying shade around me. Ginger hair, brighter than that of Reina Vane or Wednesday Vespers, would have looked certainly better groomed as well. Part of me felt a niggling emotion of regret, but I quickly pushed it aside; I'd see my sister soon enough.

"Completely agree, Mr. Riddle," Clark said casually, "but I heard rumors about you having a romantic affair. Thoughts?"

"Thoughts?" I echoed, my voice sounding alien to me, "I don't have an affair, I never will. I've worked hard to come here, too hard almost, and if I'm turning into another Boy with the Bread, gladly slap me out of it! Certainly, you wouldn't expect me to throw away my life for a girl?" I continue on, my voice now filled with disgust, "Have you not been listening? Well, clean out your ears! I will not, am not, could not, and would not have an affair with Fialla Howards!"

It was then that I realized my fatal mistake; it was then that it had become already all too late. Clark's eyes widened, his eyebrows shooting up as I frantically tried to find a way to cover my blunder. Rerunning over my words, it was then that I took a calm breathe, despite the knowing smiles displayed by each member sitting in the audience.

"And certainly not with any other Tribute," I hastily added, "District Four doesn't have star crossed lovers this year and we never will. The Games may have some this time, but I assure you, I am not one of them."

They seem to buy this excuse, and I can't help but think that that had been almost too close.


	22. The Night Before The Games D5 to D13

_Elezar Brewen (18), District Five Male-POV_

Sitting cross legged in my room, the walls have been turned into the starry night sky. There's too much smog here, interfering in any gazing that I may have had the opportunity to do. Calming myself, as a method to chase lingering thoughts out of my mind, I'm quickly slipping away from the mortal world. Spirit soaring up, higher and higher, the conflicts of this land quickly vanish. Peacefulness covers me, like a warm envelope, and I strain for the knowledge of everything with each bit of strength I have. Taking in deeper breaths, otherwise remaining completely still, my mind has been purged and ridden of all doubts about the success of this.

The door to my room opens slowly, almost hesitantly, and shuts softly. Coming back to rest in my own body, returning to a normal breathing rate, my eyes have been opened up slowly. Standing meekly, a slight jittering sensation in her hands is none other than Reina Vane. From the minute I laid eyes on her, part of me had wondered if she had been the reason I had Volunteered, if she had been the one that I had been destined to help. Fialla Howards had met that description as well; sadly, she had been torn off of her destined path by Nicolas Riddle. How many Tributes needed my saving? So many, almost too many, were in a desperate need of guidance. They came far and wide, from broken homes, some not even knowing what was wrong with them.

"I-I…I couldn't sleep…," Reina stammered, "D-Do you mind?"

Shaking my head, I shifted my position on the bed, patting a spot next to me. The District Five Tribute paced over, firmly perching herself on the bed, skin looking paler than I had ever seen it before. Putting an arm on Reina's shoulder, pulling her close as if to provide comfort, the quivering almost ceased, even if it had still been there. Was this the time that her destiny would come to an end? Looking at her, icy pale eyes, appearing more filled with sorrow and pain than anger, I couldn't believe that would be so. She reminded me of a wounded animal, one that it would be my job to nurse back to health.

"Reina…," I half whispered, "You have no need to be afraid. People don't need to think of life as a way to stay alive. As a wise woman once said, 'I choose not to think of my life as surviving, but coping.' And you, you have coped far more than anyone else…I doubt that anyone will be able to outlast you in the arena."

We spent the rest of the night in silence, neither of us looking physically afraid. Though Reina didn't speak a single word, it was if I was a lifeline, for she clung to me tightly. As such, I ended up covering her with a blanket, falling asleep with her in my arms. But there wasn't anything romantic; the bond Reina and I formed was akin to what siblings have. Thoughts of the arena didn't plague my mind, but fleeting thoughts of destiny and fate bounced around frequently. Tomorrow, something told me a pivotal moment would happen, something that would permanently change someone's fate forever. Finally drifting off into a deep sleep, just as the dawn became new and bright, the wondering if it would be the end of my own adventure never did quite quiet down.

_Maya Eberhart (16), District Six Female-POV_

Sneaking out of my room, all of the lights in our little apartment have been shut off, but I don't care. Walking by Cassius' room, a light is shinning underneath it, but I heed it no mind, making my way to the main living area. Shadows spill across the room, obscuring the normally cheerful but sterile place, and making it seem like somewhere that nightmares are made. Of course, that could very well be true, since we are currently located in the much detested Capitol. Cat would have run as quickly as the wind could carry her had she been here; there was no way that I would blame her for it.

Fingering the locket that she had given me, my thoughts dwell upon my interview. Tons of sponsors had signed up to help me, according to my ever so helpful Escort, who should really be known as a Mentor. That's part of the reason I want to win so badly; the Tributes of District Six need the guidance of someone who has lived through the Hunger Games, instead of watching it on a tiny screen somewhere. Beautiful, they had called me then, as I'd been dressed up in royal blue dress, encrusted with several diamonds. Diamonds had covered the headband for my hair as well, partnered with silver makeup and shoes of a similar color. Overall, it must have been my favorite outfit in the Hunger Games, but I didn't delude myself with any fashion fantasies.

There's a reason that I didn't have an ally upon going into the arena. There's a reason that I'm going to be the Victor of the Hunger Games. There's a reason that everyone else isn't going to stand a chance against me. And what's that reason? Well, I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to get home to my family; that makes me a _very _dangerous person to come across.

"Oh, you're still up…," Cassius comments, standing with a bowl of ice cream in his hand; he must have left the light on by accident, or perhaps by purpose.

"Yeah," I said plainly, "Nervous, eh?"

My District Partner chuckles, perching himself upon the plush couch, ice cream and spoon in hand. Glancing at him, black shadows had appeared under his dark gray eyes, making my innocent question look to be more than spot on. I'd always been good at reading people, I reflected, as I watched him scoop up a couple of the chocolate chips. Gulping the spoonful down, Cassius nudges the ice cream carton towards me, but I merely shake my head. Sugar tends to make me hyper in the morning; I don't want to be bouncing off the plate before the sixty second countdown is completely over.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" Cassius asks quietly, staring at the ground.

Eyes widening, only slightly though, I peek out at him from behind my long bangs, "Of course. District Six is going to be the Victor this year…It's the underdogs that no one sees coming, and we're in that category for sure."

Only seeming slightly reassured, I run my statement over my head one more time, as if trying to convince myself that my words are true. That neither Cassius nor I would be making our way back, in a coffin, to District Six by this time tomorrow. Taking a quick breath, pushing aside my reasoning, I scooped up some ice cream in a bowl as well, relishing in the almost sickly sweet taste; I'd have plenty of time to think about the Hunger Games later.

_Juniper Griffin (17), District Seven Female-POV_

As per tradition for the District Seven crew, we've dragged up our sleeping bags to the roof. Four of us, each distinctly different, recreate an old school campfire to our best abilities; Cypress even jokingly sings "Heart and Soul," a popular song back in the District. Underneath the dark sky, stars barely visible below the polluted skies, it doesn't quite feel like we're back in the trees. Bustling cars honk their horns, drunks holler out incoherent sentences, children scream from unknown causes, and stray dogs howl with all of their might. Only the last one fits the scene quite right, but we can't discourage Khihan for trying, even if it wasn't very successful.

Sometimes, I actually do feel as if I'm back at District Seven. Closing my eyes, biting into what Khihan has been calling a S'More, the slight burnt taste reminds me of the camping trips we sometimes would take. By being richer than most people in the District, my family had been able to afford these luxuries; luxuries that Axel should have been able to have. Swallowing the rough food, chocolate-y in taste, I can't help but blame myself for his father's death again. It had been at my family's paper factory that he had passed away; if we had had more safety precautions, then maybe Axel wouldn't be so alone anymore.

"Cypress…," I start, laying my head against Axel's warm chest, "How'd you feel on your final night before the Hunger Games?"

The fourteen year old girl looks almost startled, staring up at Axel and me with wide brown eyes. Guessing that no one had asked her that before, probably would have resulting in myself being completely correct; not many like to talk about Tributes experiences in the arena. But if I may never see her again, I just want to learn more about the famous orphan; there'd never be another chance to in my lifetime. Axel, though he didn't know it yet, would be seeing Cypress again, while I knew that there wouldn't be the same thing happening for me. It was difficult at first, falling love with someone that would have to die for me to survive, but then it just clicked. Without myself caring about my survival, Axel's life is guaranteed; I smile softly at that thought.

"I…I cried," Cypress admitted, a faraway look in her eyes, "Nightmares plagued me the entire time. In each of them, the most horrible and gruesome death happened to me, and as soon as I would die, in that dream, I'd wake up…But I wouldn't wake up in my room, I'd wake up in a new arena, just to die again and again…"

Gulping a bit, my District Partner pulls myself closer to him, his grip steely around mine. Each one of us wanted to be the one to perish in the Hunger Games, with the other one being the lucky one, the one that would be able to keep on living while they could not. If we could be favored somehow, given a ruling like the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games, then I'd be truly grateful. In a matter of about a week, my best friend had turned into my one true love; the very one I'd die for before giving up.

It's okay to love someone like that, I'd already decided that. Otherwise, you really wouldn't be living; you just can't without love. Tuning back into Cypress' voice, which seemed steady and strong despite her small size, a tiny tear slid off of my cheek. Mourning over me had already begun; the others just didn't know it yet.

_Willa Hellmans (18), District Eight Female-POV_

A blue and pink book sat in my lap, the soft candlelight reflecting off of Abe's dark and warm eyes. Though we weren't talking to each other, he had made the occasional suggestion every now and then, but none of them had been to my liking. According to the Capitol doctors, I would become a mother in the arena, even though that would mean that my babies would be born premature. A special drug would need to be taken in order to do so, the green pills resting against my thigh in a clear, plastic canister.

"…Luke, maybe?" Abe inquires, flicking through a thick novel, "Says it was the name of a Rebel alliance in …a galaxy far, far away…"

"Nah…Don't wanna make anything look like something it ain't," I replied absentmindedly, already deceiving my District Partner.

The thing is that I've already picked out the names for my children. Finalizing the details, the first names were characters in the one novel I actually enjoyed reading in school. Though, that didn't stop that awful teacher for flunking me for no reason; I had important things to do, like, sleep in and stuff. Bet she regretted doing that now, given that I'm a pregnant mother entering the Hunger Games, and I'll be a new mother leaving the Hunger Games as a Victor soon enough. Though, as always, I've come prepared with a backup plan for my little ones just in case I couldn't. Central, that's the name I've selected for my dashing young son, after Hello-Central in "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court," one of the Mark Twain books that I had been forced to read. And as for my darling little girl, Alisande shall be her name, after an intelligent yet beautiful damsel from the very same story. Each of them, I hoped, would grow up to be strong, just like me, and make the right choices, mostly like me.

"Harry? Ron? Hermione?" Abe murmurs, looking up briefly, "They led some sort of rebellion as well, in a…Golden Trio…Huh, funny history textbook. I've never even heard of these places or these people before."

"Actually, y'all better listen up good, 'cause I ain't gonna say this twice," I reprimand, "They'll be Alisande Bell and Central Ree Hellmans, and I reckon that them there names are just as classy as the one's in that ole book."

My District Partner nodded, turning his attention back to the dusty old book. Not once before had I pondered his feelings, but now I wondered if literature had become a coping mechanism of his. Shrugging slightly, not really caring how the soon to be dead boy felt, I returned my attention back to my own form of release. A grubby piece of paper, disguised as a bookmark, in which I had been jotting down notes on each Tribute in the Hunger Games. Well, really it was the ones that I expected trouble from; people like Cedar Tremaine were certainly not included on it.

_Deluna- female, meaning "Great Sorrow" and dating from the Mockingjay period. Popular name in scenic District Four, a common nickname of which is "Luna" meaning "Moon." _

Shaking my head, the name Deluna appeared to stick with me; I hoped that it didn't mean anything. After all, my entire plan depended on myself coming out of that arena alive; not anyone else.

_Cedar Tremaine (14), District Nine Female-POV_

I'm not going to lie, I'm nervous about what's happened tomorrow. Sitting off in the corner, Ebon, Sophaphina, and our two Mentors don't even notice that anything is wrong with me. Laughing their heads off, guzzling down root beer floats, the foam spilling over the sides, they look as if they're having the time of their lives. But right now, all I can think about is how I'll be placed in a coffin soon enough, sent home just for my family to cry over me. Closing my eyes, the sweetness of my own float doesn't serve to calm me down at all, only causing a sick feeling to erupt in my stomach.

It had seemed like a good idea to ally with Wednesday at first, but now I'm not too sure. She'd received an eight as her training score, meaning that a target has undoubtedly been placed upon her back. The Careers would hunt my ally down like a weak dog, not even considering the morality of the situation. Setting the frost mug aside, I can't help but wish I had broken that alliance when I had still had the chance to. A deep breath tries to settle my nerves, but it proves futile, even if I've reached the drastic conclusion. Wednesday must have only formed an alliance with me so she could murder me, brutally, and use my body as a diversion for the Career Pack. Tomorrow, I decided, tomorrow I wouldn't be meeting up with her; I'd get my supplies and run for the hills. Well, if they had hills…

What if the arena was nothing at all? What if there wasn't anywhere to run? They could throw us all into a confined space, providing quick and entertaining Hunger Games for their Quarter Quell. What if they decided to have army troops coming at us? That way it seems more like the end of the Mockingjay Period; I hope that it isn't anything like that. In the footage that they show before the Reapings, the smoldering remains of Katniss Everdeen haunt me; District Twelve never recovered the body of their fallen hero.

Hyperventilating now, all of the gruesome images running through my head over and over again, Ebon finally makes his way over. Tilting his head, cute little curls running amuck, I'm not completely sure that they had managed to explain it to him clearly. Or what if it was all a trick? What if Ebon was in on it with Wednesday, planning to laugh over my death? People had done that before, making their kills in the arena more like the real murders that they truly are.

"What's wrong, Cedar?" he asks curiously, plopping down beside me with a foam mustache, "Is something bad gonna happen? I hope not. I hope only nice things happen tomorrow! I've always wanted to play in a real arena! Do you think they have dinosaurs there? I hope they have dinosaurs. I like dinosaurs; dinosaurs are cool! Don't you think so, Cedar?"

Gulping painfully again, my nod of consent is jerky; I'm convinced that I'm face to face with my murderer right now.

_Wednesday Vespers (12), District Ten Female-POV_

Engulfed by the black darkness of the room, it's the better of my two personalities that's in charge. Just as I had been the real one to earn that eight in training, it only proved that I should be the one to be in command during the Hunger Games. She wouldn't have been able to wield that mace, to have such deadly accuracy as I smashed and obliterated that entire row of dummies. Sure, the other me was more inclined towards climbing and swinging, skills that marked pacifism in my mind. If that Wednesday Vespers entered the arena, a gruesome death would be awaiting me, well, awaiting us for sure. For some reason, she'd asked the pathetic girl from Nine, Cedar, to become allies and even tended to enjoy her company. This didn't make any strategic sense for me, though I suppose I can merely deal with it later; even I need my sleep.

Ether, I knew, had been dangling his feet other the edge of our small balcony. Earlier, the two of us had tossed down a dozen eggs, each one returning back to us in a perfect condition. Still, neither one of us had tried to test it with our own bodies, preferring to bask in the safety we had attained. This brought the question to mind, of what the Capitol would do if they lost a Tribute. Would they have to do an entire Reaping over again, just to find that one last person to be sent into the arena? Or maybe they'd say that Tribute fell gravely ill, exempting them from the interviews, and making sure no one saw them on camera in the arena. It would be what I would do, along with announcing them to be killed during the Bloodbath; their family would never know the difference.

Turning over slightly in my sleep, my thoughts drifted back briefly to my family. Robyn had been the only person that I had really connected to, the one that I had really though had understood me. But maybe he didn't? Maybe he understood the insane one? The Other Me, the nice and fragile one, always did get along with Melinda better. Perhaps if we had been richer, if we hadn't been forced into poverty, then I could have known why I acted this way. Shaking slightly, she took control again, reducing myself back to the weak and helpless girl.

"Ether?" I whispered, my knees shaking as I crept out to the balcony, "Are you still there?"

"Yeah…," he said, already used to my oddities, "I've got a bad feeling, Wendy…Real bad…"

Knowing already what he was going to say, knowing that I had been feeling it too, I couldn't help but voice the simple question, "How bad?"

Ether didn't answer.

_Tetra Comn (16), District Eleven Female-POV_

I'm so excited that the Hunger Games are finally starting tomorrow! It's been far too long, in my opinion, and I can't wait to see which of us survive the opening of the whole ordeal. That very event has been dubbed the Bloodbath; I wonder if the ground is really going to be coated in blood though. Shrugging my shoulders, I pop another one of the jelly beans into my mouth, humming a strange song that I had learned here.

_Come with me towards the end of the year,_

_Come with me with the final cheers,_

_Others will fall,_

_One by One,_

_Witness of theirs, being the sun,_

_Day and night,_

_They cannot avoid their plight,_

_Creeping into the realm with you and I,_

_Where just one of us isn't destined to fly,_

_But destined to die._

From what I could tell, it's about a horrible event that people used to celebrate. Though I don't have any idea what it could be, as the only thing that it sounds like is the Hunger Games. But I enjoy the Hunger Games, that being the entire reason that I Volunteered for it. Logically, that means that it couldn't be the Hunger Games; it must have been some other sort of game, probably in someplace else. In Panem, we were not permitted to leave the country, which led me to believe that there were other countries out there. A couple of my friends, even if they acted strangely when I was around them, even pointed out that we could go to them for aid. But why would they want to? The Capitol has always been so nice to us!

Sitting up on the couch more, trying to keep my back erect, that way I can be what they called prim and proper. But the only thing here that's prim is all of the memorials for some dead nurse by the same name; I'm not exactly sure how she died though. If Prim had died in the Capitol, then maybe it happened during a sort of rebellion? I always did hate the rebels and now I'm positive that they are responsible for her fate. I mean, according to one of them, that nurse had only been fourteen years old. People had found this outrageous yet kids of younger ages die in their Hunger Games each year. I suppose that I may have conflicting feelings about this, but it's not very necessary.

My District Partner, but not ally, has been sitting in his room all night. Straining my ears only slightly, an old song that we sang at Eleven for mourning is heard. Persei must have accepted that he was going to die and that I was going to win; it was good of him to do so. Maybe I will help him in the arena, but maybe I won't; all I know is that I really hope for a good show this year. But with myself being involved in it, what could possibly go wrong?

_Josh Quick (13), District Twelve Male-POV_

The large grandfather clock, situated in the corner of the living area, booms loudly eleven times. Simultaneously, as if this had been rehearsed, four pairs of eyes drift towards it. Effie pursed her lips, dark gray eyes shining with something akin to regret, sweeping over the pairs of Avoxes in the room almost sadly. Once again, Effie hadn't been able to find Jay, no matter how hard she looked, he just couldn't be found. Glancing down at my hands, pale and soft from the persistent scrubbing my Prep Team had done for the interviews, I wished they were covered in a layer of coal dust. After living in the Seam for so long, people would have thought I'd grown tired of it, but now I missed it.

Here, in the Capitol, just about everything was different and strange. People were enslaved, their tongues cut out, taking away their basic freedom of speech. More so, they were hit constantly, harmed without even being able to scream out in pain; I'd used to be scared that they'd do that to me. But even if I won the Hunger Games, would I ever be safe? If by some miracle I survived, could I ever be happy again? Haymitch, Effie's grandfather, lost everything from a mistake he had made whilst trying to survive. I'm scared of losing; I'm scared of winning.

"I don't like this…," Rue murmurs, drawing our attention towards her, "There's this…_feeling_, Effie, something strange."

Tossing her beer colored hair over her shoulder; Effie raises a neatly plucked eyebrow, "Besides the usual one?"

Nodding, Rue's face has a shadow of fear upon her. I'm not sure I want to find out what she thinks is going to happen, as a million horrible possibilities are racing through my head. The first one is two graves, freshly dug, with Rocky and I's names printed on them. Mourners flock by them, dropping flowers, which wilt over a course of several weeks. Eventually, snow begins the process of erosion, scrapping away our long forgotten burial sites until not even our names are readable. That almost is scarier than dying, fading pretty much completely out of existence, no one remembering who we are. But I know that it's happened, it's happened to over one hundred children in District Twelve, over three hundred actually. People don't cry for the individuals; they cry for the masses, and that's what haunts me the most. To them, I'm not Josh Quick anymore; I'm another victim of District Twelve, someone that they can just lump into a group and call it good.

"…Josh, you're the supply runner, right?" Rocky asked, probably more to change the subject, "Elezar, Fialla, and I are going to meet you nearby. It's going to be okay; we've thought this through."

"Right," I confirmed shakily, "I'll meet you g-guys then."

I also had a strange feeling, a funny notion that it wasn't going to be okay; one of us is going to die tomorrow, and I think that I might just be me.

_Jet Newton (16), District Thirteen Male-POV_

Sitting on the couch, a male Avox with coffee colored hair attends to me. There's a slight familiarity about him, yet I quickly push it aside, trying to calm my nerves by dousing them with fine wine. They don't really care if we drink underage here, probably because they know that we'll end up dead soon. My muscles are aching, dying for a chance to go out and prove what they're made of, but I'm not going to. Somewhere out there sits the Master, waiting and watching, trying to find me; just as he had found the others who escaped. I'd been foolish to flee, a conclusion that I hadn't wanted to reach, but I had done so quickly here.

The Master is a huge fan of the Hunger Games, enjoying watching twenty six children fight to the death each and every year. The Master is looking for me, wanting to have me back under his thumb, to be able to make my carry out his will. I'm in the Hunger Games, I've been Reaped, the entire country of Panem is watching me fight; that includes the Master. By not showing off in the Private Sessions, my life and my freedom may have been saved; a low score wouldn't draw too much attention to me.

_ River, our newest addition, sits shivering beside me. Her feet are cold, rubbed raw as well, no doubt from being denied footwear. Hailing from District Seven, the Master had claimed that she wouldn't need it, despite being unused to the mugginess in District Eleven, our current location. Full lips, a pale pink color, and flaming scarlet hair are River's main features; she's only six years old. Inching closer to me, the strong nine year old in the group, I don't make the slightest protest when River lays her head on my shoulder; she must have come from a large family. Sue, a stony sixteen year old, shakes her head softly, motioning to a dark form obscured from our view. River's blue eyes widen in fear, silent screams coursing out of her mouth; the chains around her ankles prevent her from running away. I wished that I could have warned her…_

"Jet?" Adia questions, "Are you going to sit their brooding all night long?"

Shaking my head slightly at her, I stumble as the flashback starts up again, though later in time. I always hate it when this happens, when I'm practically forced to relive my past. It's almost never the happy moments as well, another torture in my life, the life of a boy who had long since forgotten his true name. The life of a boy with only one thing in mind; to stay alive, to stay free, no matter what it takes.

_"Skylark found a safe house, Jet," River whispers, her form now strong from physical labor, "We can escape. We can be free." _

_ Shaking my head, those words that I hated myself for saying spewed out of my mouth, "We can never be free, River. He will always be the Master, no matter how long we fight and how long we live. We're never going to live, so you might as well accept it before pulling another one of your convoluted schemes!"_

_ "You're wrong, Jet," River whispers quietly, "I'll prove it to you…"_


	23. The Bloodbath

_Cedar Tremaine (14), District Nine Female-POV_

Taking a shaky breath, they almost have to push me inside of the clear silver tube. It makes me feel like everything is going to crumble on top of me, that I'll be buried alive; even I didn't know that I was claustrophobic. Panicking, a hit with the heel of my palm reveals that the plastic must have been bullet proof; the Prep Team wouldn't be able to hear my screaming. Tears come out of my eyes, hot and fast, as I realize that escape won't be coming for me. Crumbling down to the little floor of the metal disc, I'm not instantly taking back as I feel a sinking sensation. Pushing it aside, a moment is taken to examine the getup they've placed us in, as a way to try and tell what kind of arena we'll be in. A dark brown color, the inside of it is a cool and slippery feeling material, which I think was supposed to help us keep cool. Yet the outside of it is rough and scratchy; the entire outfit is baggy. Ugly yellow boots have been strapped onto my feet, not quite bulky, but not as compact as the ones Tributes had worn in past Games. Just where was the arena for this year going to be?

That sinking sensation increases, darkness now being the only thing that I can thing. My breathing becomes quicker, more desperate, as I realize that the arena this year is going to be underground. Of course, it is a Quell year, but why me? Why did this happen to me? Wailing now, I'm sure that the other Tributes would be making glares towards my direction in the dark, but these tubes are thankfully sound proof. Standing on wobbly knees, praying that I won't collapse as soon as the gong goes off, lights dimly appear, illuminating the space around me. Rocks of various sizes cover the surfaces, an eerie echo filling what I assume to be a cavern. A slight smile appears on the District Twelve Tributes faces; they've been discussing about what to do in situations like this since they could walk.

"Tributes!" the announcer's voice booms, "Welcome to the One Hundred and Seventy Fifth Hunger Games! As I'm sure you have already known, they are located in the lovely ruins of District Thirteen, cleaned up just for your pleasure! The sixty second countdown will begin now!"

Wednesday's teal eyes meet mine for a brief section, a terrified look shining out at them. Swinging her red hair from side to side, tied back as best as it could in a bun, every inch of her body is shaking desperately. Out of the two of us, I'd always thought that she was the brave one. But maybe she made a deal with the Careers; a deal that she would kill me? And now, now that we're in the arena, my ally is beginning to regret it? A zillion thoughts race through my mind, none of which I enjoy in the very slightest.

_Ten…_

Lying towards my feet is a bundle of twine; there's almost limitless possibilities that I could use it for. Especially here, as I may be able to find out a way to lower myself deeper down into the arena, to go deep into the mines. But what if the edges were frayed? What if it snapped, dropping myself down into oblivion and dying a horrible, pain filled, death? Biting my lip slightly, it is I who gives me that first wound; a cut lip, blood flowing out from it slowly.

_Five…_

The Cornucopia lies in the middle of this section of the cavern, with doors built into the dirt constructed walls. Tiny pictures, so small that I can't quite make them out, adorn each one of them; they look a bit like the Egyptian Hieroglyphics we studied one day in school. A cough draws my head towards the source slightly, revealing the girl from District Two smiling sinisterly, and of course, she's looking straight at me. Did Wednesday tell Leah my weakness? Did my ally betray me before we had even entered the arena? Turning my gaze towards the ginger in question, my inclination is to answer no, as tears have begun to fall out of her puffy eyes.

_Three…_

_Two…_

Suddenly, a mine erupts, covering the girl from District Seven in what used to be Abe Mercer, the Tribute from District Eight. Had he fallen? Had he been pushed? Did-Did that Capitol rig the Hunger Games against us this year, wanting another Career winner? So many terrible thoughts are running through my head, not letting myself think clearly, just letting me hear the gong clang and the stampede of feet.

Hesitantly, I take a small step off of my platform, scooping up the bundle of twine as fast as I could. Observing the fight, the Career boy, Griffin, is currently pummeling the boy from District Three, weaponless so far. Not wanting to find out his skills with a sword, I run towards the closest door, the one which has what looks like an upside down cursive 'T' on it to me. Screaming follows me, accompanied by a small pair of feet; a girl wearing a sadistic smile grabs me roughly by the shoulder. Spinning me around, cheerful blue eyes and a flash of metal are the last things that I remember…

_Josh Quick (13), District Twelve Male-POV_

As soon as I can, I take off towards the Cornucopia with a run. Tetra, the girl from Eleven, is fighting with Cashmere Combe over some supplies when I get there. Thankfully, it provides some cover for me to grab a spear or two for the alliance that I've joined. Sure, it may have been strategic for me to be the one of go and grab stuff, but my heart is beating so hard that just about everyone in here would be able to hear it. Conveniently, a crate of goodies is on my right, far enough away from the grappling Griffin and Jitz to be safe in my mind. Opening up the tan colored box, the only thing inside of them is a pair of sticks. Frowning slightly, I dare not take the time to ponder on why they chose to place them in the arena, taking them before any of the Careers could catch me.

Blood splatters on my face; a quick glance reveals the cracked head of Jitz Low. The male Tribute screams out in pain, Griffin jeering at him, twisting his neck in an attempt to cut off all oxygen. Making eye contact with me, the fallen Tribute tries to mouth his final words, but it's too late for him. Plunging back inside of the Cornucopia, the screams and terror coming from outside is dulled only slightly, though it is enough to establish a small sense of calm for me. Feeling my way around, as the swinging lights that brightly lit up the cavern aren't nearly as strong in here. Inching closer to a promising looking pack, I grin and swing it over my shoulder, only to hit something heavy.

Turning my head slowly, a red headed person is revealed. Covered in cuts and bruises, along with a blood covered spear in her hand, the Tribute isn't even recognizable to me. Drawing in a deep breath, I try my best to run backwards, only to be met with a hard metal wall. Pale eyes, the color of ice, dawn understanding; this Tribute knows that I'll be an easy kill. With a jolt, I remember the odd colored sticks in my hand just in time; I have no idea how to use them, but they might just save my life.

"I'm so sorry," the Tribute whispers, shoving the spear painfully into my stomach.

A mouthful of blood comes up and I can't hold it in, instead spraying it in the face of my killer. Twisting the spear in deeper, my vision starts to go black and hazy, but just enough to pick out the neat number five written on her shoulder. Is this what it feels like to die? I don't know; I always thought that death would be scarier than this, but I actually feel rather calm.

"So very sorry," the girl repeats, yanking out the spear harshly.

Looking up at her, tears are no doubt clouding up my sky blue eyes. One of my hands is soaking in my own blood, trying to stop the wound before it could become too late, but it's useless. The other hand grasps the stick firmly and swings, connecting with the skull of the female Tribute, who slumps to the ground. Is she dead? Nudging her with my foot, there isn't any time for me to find out, as I collapse on top of her.

Breathing is jagged and hurtful; I don't pay much attention to it. In my head, I can see slopping green hills, with a little family waving cheerfully at them. For the first time I could remember, I think I'm seeing my mother and my father, the people I could have known had they not been taken away from me. A little girl, dressed head to toe in white, waves at me while stroking a fearsome looking cat. Reaching out for them, trying to see them before it's all gone; I feel my head hit the floor.

My hand is grasped by the little girl.

_Wednesday Vespers (12), District Ten Female-POV_

Thankfully, I managed to take control after all. Sprinting my way towards the Cornucopia, no one seems to notice a small ginger girl from District Ten. Funny, that other Career, Malaya, isn't anywhere insight. Smiling cruelly, fingering a mace that had been set aside, I decide that I'd like to go after her. After all, I think that I'll be able to take the ugly thing by the pure element of surprise; I'm no normal twelve year old. The Capitol, or at least the Gamemakers, must have understood that, placing my favorite weapon where it would be easily accessible. Crouching down to avoid a stray arrow; one of the Career Tributes had gotten their hands on a bow and they weren't rather good at it. Thoughtlessly, I plucked it out of the ground, holding it in my hand almost lazily. While action was happening all around me, none of it involved me, so I took my time in selecting a backpack.

Swinging a dull red one of my shoulders, not caring at the loud shuffling sound that resulted from it, I grabbed my mace and prepared to go explore this arena some more. Malaya Finaca, strangely, didn't matter to me anymore; I was already beginning to get bored. Skipping lightly, the mayhem surrounding me doesn't notice me at all; I didn't bother to ponder the oddity of it all. Walking up to a door, with a curious shape stamped upon it. Two things, which may have been swords, are connected as if they are one whole; a squiggly line is surrounding it.

"Might as well," I comment, turning around to see my District Partner, Ether, being tortured by Leah, that freaky Career girl.

Turning the miniscule handle, a cheap looking bronze color, I almost have to push it open. Steam oozes out of it, an odorless one with a clear color that feels as if it sucks me inside of it. Shaking my head, to avoid being confused and helpless with this odd phenomenon, I force my legs to venture forward. At the end of the large and expansive cavern is a steel hatch, but it's driven from my mind at the sound of a large crash. Reaction happens before thought, as always, as my mace imbeds itself in the culprit. Grazing a sleeve, a muscular form, his hair with a reddish tinge, is standing there. Unfortunately, the mace is trapped in the heavy metal door, the thing that had caused the crash; how long had the other Tribute been there?

"Come here often?" Jackson jokes, playfully swinging a katana at his side.

"Yeah," I spit back, trying to look stronger than I seemed to be, "What about you?"

"Oh…I don't know," he replies, taking a step closer towards me; my heart beat quickens, "I promised to meet a girl here. Name's Wednesday, thought she could get a high score in training and get away with it. Know anyone like that?"

Reaching into the backpack, the head of a spear is the first thing that my nimble fingers grasp. Flinging it as best as I could towards Jackson, it doesn't hit his eyes as I had hoped, instead lodging it near his lungs. It still has the desired effect, allowing myself that time to yank out the mace, thankfully now having a familiar weapon in my hands. Jackson curses under his breath, bringing up his katana, only to be met with a clang as it collides with the spiked ball of my mace. I stomp down, hard, on his foot, causing the male Tribute to flinch with pain, just enough to make him close his eyes for a second, the second that I so desperately needed. Yanking out the spear head from Jackson's throat, I sprint as quickly as I could to the metal hatch, pulling it open with ease and slipping through.

_Ebon Furial (12), District Nine Male-POV_

Not quite sure what I'm doing, I slowly pick my way towards the place that everyone else is running. There must have been something really good over there, as tons of people are being trampled and hurt in an attempt to make it over there. Though I don't see Persei, Ether is running towards the big shiny horn too. If Ether is doing it, then it must be okay; Ether doesn't do bad things. Eventually, the girl with the red hair tackles Ether, which makes me worried. Is this what they had been telling me about? Was Leah Dagger, I think that was her name, trying to kill him? People had tried to hurt Emyrus before, but I'd helped him, so maybe I could help Ether?

Running over to him, the ground comes racing up to meet me. A moan escapes my mouth, as a sticky red substance starts coming out of a painful crack. Though I try to pick myself up, my feet are being held up in the air, by something that I don't quite understand. Is someone trying to make me lose this game? I don't really like this game; I'm not all too sure that I want to play it, even if some of the older kids want to. But I don't think all too much on this, as the entire place is suddenly upside down, and I'm dangling from a steely grip. Gold eyes, luminous and subtle, draw me in, right as the darkness begins to swallow me whole. Everything is going hazy, the only exceptions being the golden eyes and the orange pebble that falls out of my pocket. It clatters to the ground, a soft thud sounding louder than thunder in my head, repeating over and over again.

Suddenly, I can't see the gold eyes anymore, just the orange of the pebble. And silently, I can't even see the orange anymore, leaving me alone in the darkness. All I can think about is how much I miss Emyrus, and then I can't think anything anymore…

* * *

Cashmere Combe:

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

Fialla Howards:

Nicolas Riddle:

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

Cassius Lisette:

Juniper Griffin:

Axel Treefall:

Willa Hellmans:

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleed to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

Rocky Nightlock:

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Abe Mercer: When I first thought of you, I believed that you would be a Tribute who would make it far in the Games. Being described as strong and silent, the only thing that was holding you back was that trick knee. As Murphy's Law said, what can go wrong will go wrong, so it just had to give out at that moment. Originally, I had you lasting past the countdown, but the flow of the story wouldn't allow me to. Compared to your District Partner, you were a rock in a fast ocean, a trait that I admired about you. Abe Mercer, I am sad to see you go; may you rest in peace. **

**Cedar Tremaine: Out of all the Hunger Games stories, I'd never had a Tribute with paranoia as strong as yours. But even though it was extreme at times, it was usually dead on, telling you who to avoid and who not to. Whenever I had to write your POV, I quite enjoyed it, mainly because of the creativity and originality that you didn't even know that you had. And while you were scared of just about everything, I think that you were mainly scared about being separated from your family somehow, especially Corvus. Tetra ended your short life all too soon, yet she prevented the seed of insanity from sprouting in your mind. You will be missed by Corvus, your parents, and I dearly, Cedar Tremaine; may you rest in peace. **

**Jitz Low: Out of each character in this story, I strangely enjoyed writing you a lot. Always complaining, choosing to state the facts instead of sugar coating them set you apart. The pessimistic boy from District Three interested me greatly, so much that I wished that you wouldn't die in the Bloodbath; it was your personality that forced me to do so. When your name had been called at the Reaping, you'd already given up on your chance to live, even if you hadn't realized it yet. Because of this, the Bloodbath became your final battle; you'd lost the Hunger Games before you'd even begun. Rest assured that you will be missed, by your parents, your District Partner, and I extremely; may you rest in peace. **

**Josh Quick: You were an interesting character who really deserved to amount to more. Throughout the story, you appeared to be uncomfortable in your own shoes, as if you weren't really sure what to do. But what the others didn't know is that was because you were lonely; you never had a true home. Growing up in the Seam must have been hard, something that you should have received more credit for; somehow, you ended up as a very sweet young man. I decided to let you see your family, to let you know that everything is going to be all right. More so, I found that you were akin to Primrose Everdeen in my mind, so I let you see her as well. Everything is going to be all right, Josh, your allies and I will miss you, and your family will be happy to have you with them again; may you rest in peace. **

**Ether Lessing: You and Persei were like the older brothers to Ebon, something that was a larger role than you realized for the young Tribute. Towards your younger sisters, Halo and Medea, that was an incredibly big job to take on. With a sick mother and a father who had to work two jobs, you didn't turn out bitter as some kids would have. Instead, Ether, you were funny, kind, and helpful; that's more wonderful than anything anyone else could have realized. Even if you died in the Bloodbath, you didn't become twisted and wicked; you were always timid and funny, you were always Ether Lessing. Halo, Medea, Persei, Ebon, your father, your mother, and I will all miss you, even Wednesday, though she doesn't realize it yet; may you rest in peace. **

**Ebon Furial: Honestly, you were my favorite Tribute in the 175****th**** Hunger Games, even more than my own Tribute. Contrasting everyone, Ebon, you didn't have a single clue as to what was going on. Whenever something went wrong, you were the one who would laugh it off and talk about what you used to do back in the District. Though Cedar sometimes suspected you of being a pretender, a faker, you simply didn't have it in you. Throughout the course of the Hunger Games, I felt as if I had been your most encouraging sponsor; that cute boy from District Nine certainly won over my heart. But because of that, there was no way that I could revoke your sentence, the one that said you'd die in the Bloodbath, without a heavy heart. If you had lived, your innocence would have been crushed, the thing that stood out about you. And more so, all you wanted was to be back with your friend; I sent you the quickest way I knew how. I will miss you dearly, along with countless others; may you rest in peace. **


	24. Hope and Sorrow

_Juniper Griffin (17), District Seven Female-POV_

Axel, Willa, and I rushed through a door at random, avoiding the chaos and confusion of the Bloodbath as best as we could. Yet each time I close my eyes, Abe Mercer is being blown to bits again, the tiny pieces that used to be him still covering my skin. The feeling is sickening; later, I want to brush off Abe into a pouch or something, so his family could cremate him. It's the burial he deserves, the one that I would wish for Willa or Axel had that happened to them. Luckily, one of us had managed to grab a small pouch, holding a container of iodine drops and a meager supply of crackers. It wasn't much to go by, but Willa had mumbled something about raiding the Cornucopia cavern as soon as the Careers dispersed.

"Should be sometime around now that we'll know the number," Axel commented, ducking his head to avoid smashing into a stalactite.

"Y'all think so?" Willa said; stumbling a bit, no doubt from a kick from Clare and Clarence- her unborn twins- causing tears to spring to her eyes.

Holding my tongue, I really don't want to set her off. According to my mother, people tended to get a bit emotional when they're pregnant, and according to her interview, Clare and Clarence are too far off from leaving the womb. I pause in the trail, taking in the form of Axel, a slight sweat clinging to his dark hair. Could I have had what Willa has? If neither of us had been Reaped, could Axel and I have started our own family together? For a moment, sadness and fury erupts within me, but it vanishes quickly, replaced by the bitter emotion of remorse.

The first cannon blast sounds off, cold and hard, causing Willa and Axel to stop in their tracks as well. Quickly, it's followed by more shots, totaling up to six deaths. Only nineteen more people must lose their life, including me, for Axel to be allowed to leave the arena. This year, the Careers must have been slacking, as they weren't even close to double digits. Smiling slightly, I couldn't help but wonder if one of them would be shown up in the sky tonight. Or ever better yet, if all of them would be gone and out of the way.

"Know so," Axel laughed a bit, a delayed replied to Willa's question, "We better keep on moving or they'll catch up to us for sure."

Axel shouldered the backpack, holding our token weapon, and started down the tunnel once again. Following him, the hairs on my head felt like they were standing up, as if we were in tremendous danger. Glancing behind me, only Willa was revealed, her sad gray eyes gazing down at the floor. It couldn't have been Willa that was making me feel uncomfortable; she couldn't even hurt a fly. Yet the feeling refused to be shaken off, even as we continued walking deeper and deeper downwards. Willa wasn't planning anything, was she? No, I must have just been on high alert from the prospect of a Career chase thing; yes, that would have to be it.

I hoped that I was right…I mean, what was Willa going to do? Sit on us and try to make us suffocate to death? Pushing away the thought, my focus was returned to a more important mission; the mission of making sure that Axel Treefall will be the next Victor of the Hunger Games.

_Nicolas Riddle (16), District Four Male-POV_

"Only six?" Leah complained, her tone filled with disgust, "We better break into double digits tonight! Otherwise, we'll be a disgrace to _all _of our Districts!"

Rolling my eyes, four of us sit camped out around the Cornucopia. As always, Leah and Cashmere have banded together, each carrying a backpack filled with supplies. The comment, I knew, had been directed towards Malaya, Jackson, and I, yet I ignored the jab from her. Soon enough, that feisty girl from District Two would be going back to her probably posh family in a coffin, and I just couldn't find it in myself to care. All of us, with the exception of Cashmere, had Volunteered to be here; we fully understood the risks.

"Has anyone seen Jackson?" Cashmere asked, ignoring Leah's jib, "Or Malaya for that matter?"

"Nope," I stated plainly, sharpening my sword on a rock I had found, "Think they ditched?"

Griffin shook his head, as if that was all it took to sum it up. Standing up, waving my sword around in the air slightly, smirking a bit at the whooshing sound, I decided that a search party would be in order. But knowing what that goofball Jackson's like, he's probably hiding out somewhere to play a prank on us. Motioning for Cashmere to come with me, as the wild look in Leah's eyes didn't exactly make for a good hunting partner, I walked casually towards one of the doors.

"Don't be out too late," Leah commented, "Otherwise, I'll be the one with all the kills and you'll be the ones without the thrills."

"Yeah, yeah, Dagger," I replied, pulling open a door nearby Jackson's plate.

Inside of this room, a steam filled it completely, coming out of the door as soon as possible. Cashmere hung back, content to watch as I ventured inside of this mysterious rock formation. Along the ceiling, pipes ran far back, abruptly bending and shooting up towards the sky. The very sky that we were unable to see, a first in the Hunger Games, or at least I think it was. Strangely enough, the ground was compact and smooth, unlike the rocky surface that had covered the rest of the arena so far. At the very back, barely visible from where I stood, was some sort of metal structure. Frowning slightly, I ventured forward, wanting to know just what was hiding back there.

"Nicolas!" Cashmere warned, sprinting into the room and shoving me out of the way.

"Wha-Oh…," I started, realization now dawning as I stared down at where I was about to step.

Tiny and delicate looking, a white parachute sat crumpled, the strings stained red and unusable. A sponsor must have panicked and sent in a gift already, but as I followed the small trail of blood, I found that they were right to do so. The missing Career sat sprawled on the ground, one eye looking up at us, almost cockily. If this had been any other situation, Jackson probably would have blurted out something along the lines of, 'What took you guys so long?' A white bandage, wrapped tightly around his neck, must have been what the sponsor had sent in that parachute. Holding up his sword, Jackson grinned carelessly at us.

"What's up?" Jackson questioned, sitting up as if someone hadn't nearly killed him.

"We went looking for you," Cashmere murmured, scanning the rest of the room, "Do you mind telling us what in the world happened?"

The male Tribute from District Two frowned, his gaze shifting towards the metal thing at the end of the room, before landing on the sleek form of Cashmere, "It was…Newton…He snuck up on me, I suppose, but I won't let it happen again!"

I roll my eyes, shaking my head at Jackson for being caught unaware. District Thirteen may have looked strong in training, but the score that Jet received proved that he could only talk the talk and couldn't walk the walk. Turning my back on Cashmere and Jackson, who had resumed their normal chatter, another person who couldn't walk the walk turned up in my mind. My Little Enigma; I'd made sure that she escaped the Bloodbath, merely because of the embarrassment District Four would suffer if Fialla had died on that first day. Still, nothing good could come from her hanging around Brewen, the twit who managed to score a twelve. If anything, I should have been the one with that high score, instead of the lowly nine that I had been branded with. Hopefully, that boy with the dirty hair, along with the weird girl from Eleven, would be sleeping with the fishes tonight.

That brought to mind an important matter, at least for the other Tributes; they didn't have a source of food. This entire arena was underground, so the only animals that would be down here that came to mind would be bats. Unless they were an expert archer, it wouldn't be very easy to catch one, not to mention figure out how to cook it. While the tunnel system is a good idea, all they'd have to do is ensure a door is closed, and we wouldn't be able to see the smoke of their fires at all. A smirk grew on my face; all of them would be propped wide open soon enough. Tugging gently on the door handle, it turns slowly with a creek, resulting in me forcing it open the rest of the way. No Tributes would be able to sneak up on us unaware, I decided, thoroughly convinced that the Cornucopia is a key position for this year's Hunger Games.

"Nifty little bandage you got there," Cashmere stated plainly, eying the almost completely white object, "If I didn't know any better, I would have said you were lucky to be alive. But of course, you're a Career, so it would be silly to suggest such a thing…Wouldn't it be?"

"Eh, I'll track down...Newton...tomorrow. Okay, sunshine?" Jackson jokes, cracking a smile and drawing a slight giggle out of Cashmere.

Leaving the two lovebirds to themselves, I march my way back to the camp, determined even more than before. Jet Newton must have tried to trick us, but he should have known that won't work; I'll have his head by morning. Quickly glancing around, Finaca isn't anywhere in sight; I'll track her down as well. That ugly girl from District Three should have known better than to score higher from me, and then have the nerve to ditch the Career alliance, which is considered a great honor to be selected for. Soon enough, anyone who thought I was a sissy for having no kills would be dead wrong; I'll be the one who takes out the strongest competitors in the Hunger Games, and no doubt it will be with remarkable ease.

_Jet Newton (16), District Thirteen Male-POV_

Despite the fact that I have no idea what time it is, I have a feeling that I've been walking down these tunnels for hours. Stalactites and stalagmites are everywhere, which reassures me that I won't have a shortage of potential weapons in case a Tribute comes to attack me. During the Bloodbath, there was no way that I was going to be an idiot and plunge my way into the Cornucopia, so I didn't have many supplies on me. Really, the only thing I had was a canteen, and naturally, the people in the Capitol couldn't have been bothered to fill it up for me. There'd been an underground lake near the Cornucopia Cavern, but I didn't dare stop there; the Careers or the Master would have been bound to see me. Hopefully, everything would be able to go as I planned, provided that I get my hand on twin daggers. Or really, anything would have worked just as well; as he'd made sure everyone was versatile with the weapons.

_ River and Skylark had vanished weeks ago; everyone knew that they had been planning it, except for the Master. Furious, all of us had been whipped and beaten, then sent out into the fields in an attempt to find them. No trace had been found, leaving him in a worse mood than before; Sue gained a new scar as punishment. Part of me regretting not going with them, not leaving when they had actually found a way that worked, that they had escaped the Master's clutches. I sneezed, drawing his steely blue glare, and quickly returned to my current assignment- sharpening all of the blades. The scarping sound of steel on iron, the best thing we had to use at the moment, almost seemed to be taunting me. I could have gone with them, I could have been hiding with them, I could have left this horrible nightmare. They could be anywhere in Panem right now, heck, they could even be in a completely different part of the world; I was just too, too…hopeless to realize the chance that I could have had. And now, now I'm playing the price, a continued enslavement to the Master; I'd always be the slave. _

Eventually, I stumbled upon a set of steel tracks, probably for the mine carts. If only they had left the transportation method fully intact, leaving me to walk awkwardly down them. Six cannons had fired off, and all I needed was to hear nineteen more go off soon. However, a petite blonde came to mind; I wouldn't rejoice hearing her death at all. But that made me wonder how they'd tell us who had died; there wasn't a sky here for them to project the image onto. They'd had plenty of time to think it out though, so they'll surely have something. After all, drama is a key part of the Hunger Games; without knowing who died, no one would get angry, and the Capitol just wouldn't have that. Idly walking, I'm plunged into the memories once again, knowing that I've been placed under the watchful gaze of the Master once more.

_Rocky Nightlock (14), District Twelve Female-POV_

"Six others have reached the grand new adventure!" Elezar says cheerily, grinning slightly.

To me, that doesn't sound like a very good thing. To reach that grand adventure, those people had to die, they had to lose their lives and the people that cared about them are going to be mourning them tonight. There really wasn't anything about that I could celebrate without a heavy heart, even if it put me six steps closer to getting out of the arena. Six steps closer to see my aunt, my uncle, and Lisa. One of my regrets was that Lisa and I were not nicer to each other; at least I knew that she loved me, and she should know that I loved her.

A nervous look is on Fialla's face, probably because we're ridiculously close to the Cornucopia area. Josh hasn't emerged from it yet, causing us to worry, but there's no way that we could confirm it until later tonight, when we find out who the fallen Tributes are. He probably just got lost in the network of tunnels or something; the nervousness I felt wasn't logical at all. Josh is going to be safe, he's going to be safe; it became a chant, one that I felt like saying out loud, but simply didn't. The last time one of us said something like that, Elezar went on a spiritual rant for about half an hour. It had been easy to tune out though, considering that Fialla and I were the ones worried over our lack of supplies. Simply put, we were worse off than the homeless; no food, no water, and about seventeen people trying to kill us. Yet unlike the homeless, the officials are cheering on the killers, assisting and aiding them in each way they possibly could.

"Who do you think it was?" Fialla whispers, sitting down on one of the smoother rock formations.

"It was brothers and sisters, Fialla," Elezar reminded, "We will have to wait for the cover of darkness to reveal who has journeyed on. A thousand blessings for them!"

"Yeah…," I said softly, "How long until dark, anyways? You can't exactly look at the sky down here…Elezar?"

He'd walked forward some, his eyes closed in concentration. After getting to know my ally, I'd found that he was a Yoda type of person, someone who spewed out spiritual wisdom. Not much was able to get the bony Tribute down, though I wondered if anything good would come out of Windos, the boy that he had Volunteered for. If that kid grew up to be something important, someone key in the history and development of Panem, then Elezar would be held in awe by me. And if he didn't, my ally would still have my undying respect; he'd taken a group of ragtag kids under his wing, not many people could claim to do the same. Of course, Fialla had Volunteered for the Games as well; Josh and I were the only people in this little group who were forced to participate. Rue had prepared us as best as she could though, so hopefully, I'll be able to make it out alive. But if I couldn't, then Josh should be the winner; my family would benefit from it. After all, they were scraping by, Aunt and Uncle always out looking for work, and Lisa is going to be following in their footsteps soon enough.

"Three hours…," he muttered, "Three hours until we shall be granted that precious gift."

_Persei Baxwoll (14), District Eleven Male-POV_

In my head, I can see myself glancing around, grabbing whatever I could and bolting out of the cavern as fast as humanly possible. Ether and Ebon, well, I haven't seen them yet, and I'm terrified slightly at that fact. As much as I'm trying to deny it, they're probably lying dead near the Cornucopia, the Capitol people waiting to swoop in and collect their bodies. While that's horrible, at least there's no blasted Mockingjays in the arena; I had thought for sure that there would be, given that this is the ruins of District Thirteen we're in. According to my textbook, they mine graphite here, but these mines don't look like they were seldom used. Gamemakers must have constructed new ones, just for their pleasure, I guess.

A tiny little pouch containing nine strips of beef jerky was clenched in my hand. Ebon, Ether, and I had all agreed on running into the Bloodbath, determined to grab a couple of spoils to hinder the Careers. But evidently, that didn't happen, as my paranoia got the best of me, causing myself to flee as fast as the wind could carry me. Originally, there'd been ten strips in the pouch; I'd nibbled on one, mourning over the loss of the fabulous Capitol food. Of course, this could have very well been poisoned, designed to weed out the intelligent Tributes from the weak. According to the score that they had assigned me, I wasn't neither, I was merely average; not a Victor of the Games in anyway.

Retracing my steps slightly, I'm standing right next to a massive lake. It reflects the rock formations, making it look as if it'll be a gigantic fall by going inside of it. Poking the surface, the water ripples and distorts the image, but only for a little bit. Someone could have hidden in there, if they were able to hold their breath long enough, a talent that I believed myself to be lacking it. I could just picture Fialla, that girl from District Four with the curly hair, camping out down there with a breathing device a sponsor had sent her. In fact, that could have really happened; anything could be lurking down in the depths of the water. Ignoring the fact that it looked mainly clear, I quickly skipped backwards, as if to not alert whatever lives down there.

"We ought to open up these doors, Griffin," a voice said, echoing off the walls and into my cavern, "Just about anyone could be trying to sneak up on us. That boy- Jet- nearly killed Jackson."

A mental debate is staged in my head. If I ran right now, Ether and Ebon wouldn't be able to find me if they had live, as we'd agreed to meet up near a source of water. But if I didn't, then I'd become the newest victim of the Career pack, the seventh person to fall during the Hunger Games. Mockingjays are probably watching me right now, recording my each and every thought with their freaky mutations; I've always hated those stupid birds. Other animals are all right, but those mutants never sat well with me, even if Tiberius and Lianna always treated my fear as a joke. Deciding that my life is at stake, I find myself sprinting down the steep tunnel, not even bothering to keep my footsteps quiet; hopefully the Careers didn't hear me. If they did, then I'm blaming it on the Mockingjays.

_Tetra Comn (16), District Eleven Female-POV_

Laughing to myself, I stalk the twisting tunnels of the arena like I own the place. Oh, what fun this is turning out to be! The blood covering my knife is still fresh, tasting splendid as well. If only that girl was still alive, that way I may sample her some more and compliment her on it. What blood type was she? If only I knew, then I'd only hunt down the Tributes who may have a similar flavor! A great booming noise, happening six times, goes off all of the sudden! Frowning slightly, I pout as that means the Hunger Games will be over soon. Shouldering my bow, the knife that I had used on Cedar rests in my pocket; I prefer the former weapon more. Melee things had never been my style, yet that girl, I think from District Nine, had been weak and unsuspecting.

Hopping over a stalactite, the length of time that I've been walking means that I'll be far, far away from the Career alliance. Though other Tributes would have enjoyed hearing that, there is no way that I like it; they'll be having all of the fun without me! Tribute hunting must be my new favorite game, so I've got to make sure that I beat each and every one of them, otherwise District Eleven won't like me. District Eleven likes it when their Tributes win, correct? And if I win the Hunger Games, and beat the Careers in Tribute hunting, then they'll love me! They'll want to be my friends; I always do love having friends!

A bat zooms by my head, the light temporarily faltering. Yet it doesn't bother me, as soon enough, the switch snaps on. This entire arena operates on motion detection; if there's a Tribute walking in a room, the path will be lit for them. I don't know what they're going to do at night, as it's not night yet, and I think that I would have noticed. Brushing back a loose strand of hair, I really hope that I'll run into another Tribute sometime soon; the only one I had seen was I! There's no way that I'd hunt myself, as District Eleven doesn't like it when District Eleven kills District Eleven. Not to mention, it'd feel wrong in a sort of way; I kind of hope that Persei is okay right now. But if he's not, whoever hunted him must have had tons of fun doing it!

Guzzling down a bottle of water, I smile to myself. This game is easy, almost too easy; why did people seem to be so scared about not winning? All they have to do is try their best and go on out there! Maybe they just need a bow, like I have one, or maybe they really want to lose the Hunger Games. My eyebrows furrow, as this train of thought is beginning to confuse me; it just doesn't make any sense to me.

_Malaya Finaca (15), District Three Female-POV_

Running, that's the only thing on my mind right now. I have to get as far away from the Cornucopia as possible, as far away from the Careers as I can. By tomorrow morning, they'll realize what I've done; they'll realize why they haven't seen me. Luckily, no one had noticed when I scooped up a tight black package, which I had learned was a folded up sleeping bag upon further inspection. It'd be a comfort that I only would have in the arena; well the Careers would probably have it as well. I honestly doubted that they would be receiving any sleep tonight, preferring to go out and weed out some of the competition. Not that it bothers me, as it just places me one step closer to proving that an ugly girl, even from District Three, could win the Hunger Games. People would be sponsoring me for sure, even more so as I am a legacy Tribute, thanks to my great-grandfather winning the Hunger Games. It's a miracle that he's still alive, after all, Yohan Finaca is the well remembered Victor of the eightieth Hunger Games, and now he's known as the Mentor of Jitz Low. I didn't know if my pessimistic District Partner survived the Bloodbath; I hoped that he did, each of us did have the responsibility of representing District Three.

Rounding a corner, the muffled sound of voices greets my ears. A pause in my plans is the only thing I can consent to, until I've found an alternative route to avoid whoever was there. If I had had a weapon on me, then I would have gladly marched forward, learning how to use each kind since I was a toddler, when I had decided that I'd win the Hunger Games. Hopefully, the entire alliance of Careers would vacate the Cornucopia at some point, allowing me to swoop back in and grab some food. Glancing up at the sky, in this case the rocks towering above us, sealing us inside of the Quarter Quell arena, no white parachutes fluttered down. It confused me slightly, how they'd be able to get them in here, but they had been able to shoot us all down through tubes; perhaps the method would be similar to that. Unless, of course, the Capitol had invented instant teleportation while we were all sleeping; somehow, that didn't seem all too hard to believe.

"Hey, Gramps, Granny," I muttered, "I'm doing fine, just in case you were wondering. Hope you're doing okay too,"

Even if it may have appeared slightly insane, it gave me something to distract from the threat of the Careers. Though I knew that they would take me out in an instant if I had stuck around with them, that my choice had been correct, it made me feel as if a gigantic target had been placed onto my back. As if I had been given a score of one hundred, practically telling everyone to turn around and throw a knife at me as fast as they could. The feeling of being hunted wasn't one that I particularly favored; surely, it would leave as soon as I exited the arena? I sighed; brushing a strand of my dirt colored hair out of my eyes and continued onwards, truly marching to the beat of my own drummer.

_Maya Eberhart (16), District Six Female-POV_

Clutching the knife, a gash on the side of the cheek doesn't bode well. The hot pink colored backpack, one of my least favorite colors, hadn't had a single medical kit inside of it. Naturally, that just meant that a sponsor or two would pitch in to purchase me a bandage, but none of the fabled white parachutes had come my way. Didn't someone want to sponsor the sly girl from District Six? My score in training had proven that the Capitol would love me, even more so when they cheered during my interview. A couple curse words have left my mouth, mainly because the slow trickle of blot keeps getting in my blonde hair, staining it to look more like Leah Dagger, the girl from District Two's hair.

Eventually, a steel door greets my vision. My face bears a smirk now, content with the supplies I'd managed to grab, even if it had been void of a medical kit. I'll just have to cut off a strip of something later; right now, it's time to get to work on setting a trap. Taking the knife, a gruesome selection that Leah Dagger no doubt wishes she had, I hack off the top of a stalagmite. Grinning as I look down at the cruel point, the only other things I need for this plot is plain old twine, along with a choice few knots. Opening the door, the trap is constructed quickly and effectively, anyone who was wondering this way would regret coming through. Afterwards, a few adjustments are made, but I'm positive that it will do exactly what I envisioned it to. Upon opening the heavy door, the line would become slack, releasing the heavy, not to mention pointy, piece of stalagmite upon the unsuspecting Tribute's head. By the time the dirty work was said and done, the cannon would have already fired, signaling that I was one step closer to returning home. Admiring my handiwork, a good amount of twine was left over, which I pushed back inside of the disgusting pink backpack.

"That will do the trick," I murmured, now walking deeper into the maze, looking for more doors to doom other Tributes with.

At some point in time, the Bloodbath toll rings out. Six blasts, quickly following each other, scorn the Careers, no doubt bringing shame upon them back in their respective Districts. It's never a good sign when a Career Pack doesn't break the double digits, instead leaving twenty Tributes alive and well in the arena. Most likely, this is only going to make the Capitol more bloodthirsty, more inclined to kill off Tributes at random. Though if someone does stumble into my trap, then I'll probably be guaranteed safety; it'll be the ones sitting around, doing nothing that they choose to take out first. Sooner or later, someone would be bound to open that door, or peradventure, stumble upon the other trap I had created earlier. The likelihood was that the remaining rope that I had with me would only be enough for one more, meaning that I'd have to conserve it, unless a sponsor recognizes the potential plight and sends some in.

_Adia Loya (16), District Thirteen Female-POV_

By the time that they fire off the cannons, I haven't seen any trace of my ally. Reina didn't appear to be the type to ditch an alliance, as a sort of fear had been around her, prompting her to run to any protection that I could offer. Leaning against a boulder, I couldn't help but wonder if the fiery haired girl would be returned to District Five shortly, dressed up neatly as if attending a party. A horrible sight that would have been to see, even if my ally would have to pass on at some point during the Hunger Games; otherwise, I wouldn't be allowed to win, to go home and see my parents and brother again. If there had been one thing that I missed, it was Fabian. Peradventure he had come up with some wonder, something that would actually improve the conditions of the Districts of Panem; it'd been his lifelong dream.

"Oh, Reina," I whisper, "Where are you?"

Glancing down at my sketch pad, complete with a dull charcoal pencil, I had been trying my best to draw out the arena. Even though I'd brought it as my token for comfort only, it had actually been proven useful; the Gamemakers couldn't say that I'd be using it as a weapon, so they'd reluctantly let me bring it in. Only now did I truly understand that, originally being bewildered that they had not wished for me to bring a pad of paper and pencil into the arena. The twisting tunnel that I've been following sprouted out from the Cornucopia area, turning left twice and right once. A couple of times there had been a fork in the path, yet I hadn't dared turn off of the middle road; there wasn't a reassuring cover of dust on either of the handles. If Reina, somehow, was still alive right now, my sketch pad would be key in trying to find her. Though it wasn't the map of the arena that I had focused my attention on; instead, it was the drawing of my enigmatic District Partner.

So desperately did I want to know who he was that I had draw his face, perfectly, and listed each fact I knew about the odd boy. Disappointingly, the list was quite short, with only standard things, things that he had revealed in the interview etched in my tiny and neat handwriting. Just who was Jet Newton? I already knew that Newton wasn't really his name, just the default that some Capitol sign in lady had written down; several Newtons had died in the Hunger Games already. But what if Jet wasn't even his real name? The question burned inside of me, a fierce determination to find out before my District Partner died; hopefully it wasn't already too late. But as I continued farther into the maze, glad for the miniscule compass a fallen Tribute had dropped during the Bloodbath, the question continued to plague me. Each time I tried to think about something else, such as what Fabian would be doing right now; Jet's passive face came into my mind, a somehow stormy calmness reflecting in his mind.

_Cassius Lisette (16), District Six Male-POV_

Idly kicking a rock, the entire ordeal has been pretty boring so far. Sure, a spike of adrenaline had hit me as soon as the Games commenced, but it soon vanished after it was clear that none of the Careers were chasing me. Nothing of interest had happened, the tunnels sloping downwards for what felt like an eternity. Was this all the Capitol had been able to come up with for their Quarter Quell? Quite frankly, I'm not very impressed with it; the new Head Gamemaker is sure to be replaced for next year. Or maybe this isn't all that they have to offer; still, the meager supplies that I have aren't exactly going to keep me going long enough. A narrow tube, no doubt designed for poison darts, was just about the only item I'd been able to grab. Not to mention a flimsy plastic bottle containing what looked like iodine drops; it was a shame that the only source of water I'd seen rested miles behind me.

Suddenly, the sound of cannons breaks the silence, catching my attention instantly. I listen intently, counting the blasts on my fingers as my photographic memory doesn't extend to audio naturally. A guffaw escapes me, realizing that the so called fearsome Careers only managed to eliminate six Tributes; they didn't even get us down into the teens for remaining players. I shook my head, convinced that all of them- the golden eyed girl, the crazy red head, the ugly one, Mr. Muscles, the tanned wonder, and joker- were all going to be a piece of cake when it came to taking down. Looks like I'll be seeing my father again after all, even if the ever impending boredom is going to continue on and on.

Really, that's the only thing that I want in life. Sure, it'd be nice I suppose to get a girlfriend, and maybe start a family some day, don't get me wrong. But for as long as I could remember, just about nothing made I feel excited, nothing made me feel truly alive. When I had been Reaped for the Hunger Games, it had not been a happy experience, as it meant complications for the wellbeing of my father, but there'd been a niggling hint of hope. That maybe, maybe somehow, being locked in this arena would have helped me live life to the fullest. Yet so far, nothing had really done that, another disappointment that I'd found in my probably short lifetime.

Had that been the same reason that the Careers wanted to be in the Hunger Games? I would have believed it had someone told me that it is true. In District One, District Two, and District Four, they all live a relatively cushy lifestyle. When people live like that, they usually aren't content, always wanting more. And maybe, just maybe they wanted to find some thrills before they died, just like I wanted to. Though I knew that I couldn't speak for Maya, that I didn't know all that much about her, I think that a small part of her may have felt the very same way. Not wanting to claim something that I didn't know for sure, I returned to my new hobby of kicking a rock, waiting for something interesting to happen in this arena for once.

_Wednesday Vespers (12), District Ten Female-POV_

Holding the spearhead in my hand still, I pant slightly as I crawl my way upwards. A ladder, constructed out of the same cheap bronze as the doorknob, has been dug into the dirt. My fingers are white from the tight grip, my body shaking strangely; I shouldn't have reacted this way from encountering a Career. Taking deep breaths, I know that if I let go right now, it would all be over for me, as I've scaled at least fifty feet by now. I force myself to keep on going, even if the spearhead digs into my palm, mixing the dried blood of Jackson with my own. Dimly, something told me that this wasn't a good thing, but I didn't suspect that he'd have a deadly disease or anything, as he appears to be in peak physical condition. Minutes must have past by now, perhaps even an hour, as the faint screams of the Bloodbath have vanished, replacing by a bone chilling mist, not unlike the one that had finished that portion of the arena I'd discovered.

When the cannon blasts fire off, I nearly lose my stellar grip on the later, which would have surely added a seventh. Quickly, I count up the Tributes who looked like they were dead in the Bloodbath; Abe, Ether, and Jitz. Who was the other three then? Frowning slightly, my resolve is to keep go on higher up, before someone discovers Jackson and comes on after me. The majority of my weapons are kept in the backpack, meaning that the tiny spearhead is my only defense at the moment. Quickly scaling up higher and higher, the eerie mist thickens into a dense fog, only allowing me to pick out my red hair and the brass bars right in front of me.

"Where's this going…?" I mutter, a pinprick of light barely breaking through the fog, signaling that my hours long climb up the ladder is nearly done.

Reaching my hands out, they're met with the familiar sensation of cool grass. Was this another part of the arena? Well, I doubted that the Gamemakers would be foolish enough to leave that hatch down there if they didn't intent for Tributes to be able to go 'upstairs' so to speak. I scramble up as fast as I can, sighing from relief when I'm safely outside, and a lid is sitting nearby the hole that I had climbed out. Raising an eyebrow, I slam it on over top; no other Tributes will be able to get me right now. Glancing around, the grass may be a healthy green color, yet the trees are bare, looking as if they had been constructed purely out of ash. If I had been from District Seven, then I probably would have been able to identify them, along with the strange flowers littering the ground. A white color, the inside of them is an entrancing purple color, yet there's an odd metallic glint to the bulbs of it. About to reach out and touch one of them, my hand jerks back as the Capitol anthem sounds off.

"Tributes!" the announcer's voice booms, even though I can see the projection up in the sky, "As I'm sure you've all been wondering, we've concealed tiny cameras throughout the arena, that way you will see the pictures of The Fallen per normal. Sponsor gifts will still be sent in via parachute- don't worry about that! Our development team has been hard at work on a new technology just for that. Now, the Fallen will be displayed in but a moment, but I do wish you good luck! May the odds be ever in your favor!"

Stretching out, the green grass turns out to be a lovely bed. Folding my arms back to create a pillow of sort, I watch as the Capitol seal vanishes and is replaced by the first dead Tribute. For as long as I could remember, they appeared in order of District, instead of by time of death; it made sense to President Gremlin, so he ordered that it would be that way. A morbid looking boy with dirty blonde hair, Jitz Low from District Three, is the first person to glare down at us. Silent Abe Mercer replaces him, looking as if he doesn't have a care in the world; District Eight probably won't have a Victor this year. Both Tributes from District Nine, scared Cedar Tremaine and naïve Ebon Furial, are the next images shown to us. Afterwards, my ginger haired District Partner, Ether Lessing, is shown; a curious ping of sadness goes through me, but it doesn't last for long. The very last Tribute that appears is Josh Quick, that nervous boy from District Twelve; as the Capitol anthem plays once again, I can't help but think that the Careers are feeling disappointed right about now.

Oh well, that just means I'll get to be more of a player in this Hunger Games than I had originally hoped. Curling up next to my bag, sleep claims me easily, a smirk on my face and my trusty mace lying by my side, like a stuffed animal would for a younger child. Game on, Careers!

* * *

Cashmere Combe:

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

Fialla Howards:

Nicolas Riddle:

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

Cassius Lisette:

Juniper Griffin:

Axel Treefall:

Willa Hellmans:

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

Rocky Nightlock:

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:


	25. Shades of Red

_Reina Vane (17), District Five Female-POV_

Yesterday, that may very well have been the worse day in my entire life. A gigantic bruise has swollen up on my head, eerily similar to the ones that Uncle Pinto had given me just about each and every day. Quickly peeking down at my arms, the signs of abuse remained visible, no matter what the Capitol people had tried to do. What they didn't understand is that those scars weren't just on the surface; they ran deep, deeper than could be remedied by their chemical wonders. Ever since that day when I was little, the day that a tornado struck down, I being the only survivor, everything had changed for me. There wasn't any more picnics, no more strolls through the grimy District, no more running through the fields, my father chasing me playfully. Instead, a dark cloud fell upon the once shinning and bright life of mine, sweeping out each and every bit of happiness that I had to hold. From that point on, my life become one of grief and sorrow, that tiny emotion called hope becoming foreign to me.

Waking up inside of the Cornucopia, hope had avoided me as well; leaving me convinced that the Careers were going to find me. Yet for an odd reason, not a single one of them were in sight; they were probably out Tribute hunting. I tucked the arnis sticks, the ones that Josh, the dead boy from District Twelve, had knocked me out with into a tiny and compact red bag. Apples were its only other contents, just enough to let Adia and I survive for a couple days off of. Of course, providing that Adia will still want to be in the alliance with me, as I wouldn't blame her if she's decided to split off in this time. The entire arena seems to be an endless maze, which I had discovered upon running frantically from the Cornucopia, in fear that the Careers would come back in a minutes' notice.

Along the way, a couple of the doors looked unsuspecting, making them untrustworthy to me. I'd turned promptly on my heel, hoping and praying that I'd run into my ally soon enough. Even though I shouldn't blame Josh, a large part of me curiously wanted to; I guess I'd blamed myself enough. But I had become a murderer from it, taking the life of a boy who could have shown such promise, who could have amounted to someone great. He hadn't attacked me either; a switch in my mind had just gone off, causing me to act without thinking it through. At this very moment in time, it was extremely too late for him, too late for any chance of redemption.

Staring down at my hands, the awful color red glared up at me. Earlier I'd stopped at the underground lake, scrubbing it off until my palms had appeared to be clean. However, the ugly red color continued to stain them, not matter how much I had repeated the process. Shuddering slightly, I shoved my hands back into my pockets, having no desire whatsoever to continue gazing down upon them. A funny gut feeling told me that my hands would always be red, even if I had won the Hunger Games, even if the Capitol surgeons pieced me back together. And besides, I wasn't exactly the type of girl who could win. The other Tributes were able to do so many great things, deadly and frightening, but they were still remarkable feats. When you compare the person who can splinter an arrow with their eyes closed to the girl who asses the plant identification test, who are you going to pick? Exactly, the one who knows how to kill, not the one who knows how to survive.

"Boring as always…," someone mutters, coming down the hallway towards me, "When are we going to get some excitement?"

I freeze in my tracks, holding the arnis sticks so they're bracing my arms. Ceasing my breath, I glance around quickly, and then dive behind the cover of a rock formation. Amethyst quartz, it barely covers my head; hopefully this Tribute doesn't look around too carefully. And if he's as entertained as he sounds, I doubt that I'll be discovered by him; bored people don't try rather hard. Barely moving my head so I can identify who it was, the dark haired boy, complete with gray eyes, is the Tribute that I discover. Racking through memories of interviews and the score reveals, Cassius Lisette is the only name that quite matches it, the face looking unkempt compared to the styled up photographs of the District Six Tribute.

Shifting my hold on the arnis sticks slightly, just so my sweaty hands won't end up dropping them. The suspense is nearly killing me, as Cassius pauses in his tracks for a second. A sloppy grin graces his face, his gray eyes hovering over my form, before continuing on down the tunnel. Daring not to breathe, even if my lungs are screaming for air, my blue eyes follow his back, watching as he disappears through the door that I had come from. The door that would lead him to what would be known as hell in the arena; the Cornucopia, the headquarters of the Careers. Why hadn't Cassius attacked me? He had surely saw me, smiling and making eye contact, so why not fight? Clearly, he would have been able to easily overpower me, as I have little to none strength. Furrowing my eyes, it is several hours before I can finally gather the courage to carry on walking, to continue looking for Adia and hope that I don't run into anyone else. This arena is a twisted maze; I'd probably meet many Tributes on my way, wherever I liked it or not. Gamemakers could make just about anything happen to me or to anyone for that matter…

The little red bag feels heavier than it should have, but I continue on in my almost hopeless quest.

_Rocky Nightlock (14), District Twelve Female-POV_

Waking up with an empty stomach hadn't been fun, even if I had become used to in back in District Twelve. In a way, the rich and expensive Capitol food didn't help us Tributes at all; as it made the scraps we ate in the arena taste even more atrocious. The only available food had been a flock of vampire bats, which Elezar had protested killing, claiming that he sensed that they'd be serving a better purpose in their lives than a quick meal. Honestly, I may have become irritated from my hunger, but I think sitting in my belly would be a fine enough purpose for them. Yet Fialla had agreed with Elezar, meaning that we were currently wandering around aimlessly as usual. If only one of our mythical sponsors would have been kind enough to send in just a couple crackers, it wasn't all too much to ask for, right? After all, they are the ones sending us to our eventual dooms; they could at least feed us.

"Elezar…," I started, slowly gaining the attention of the long haired boy, well, man, "Shouldn't we be concentrating on finding something to eat? We can't last forever on nothing, you know."

The District Five Tribute turned his head, breaking into a slightly disturbing grin. Sometimes, I wasn't all too sure exactly what was running through his head, yet Fialla didn't seem to mind it at all. Neither did Josh; turning my head slightly, to see where the blonde haired boy had gone, it was then that his death hit me. Abruptly, tears sprang to my eyes, no doubt letting myself look weak in front of the entire country of Panem. Though I hadn't known Josh very well, he'd come from the same place that I had, he'd been my ally, and most importantly, Josh had been my friend. It had been obvious from the start that he had been one of the six, the six that had met their deaths shortly after the gong had sounded, but it wasn't clear enough for me. The death of my District Partner hadn't been told to me, I didn't know who had killed him, I didn't know if I should avenge him or not; it tore me up inside. Elezar's smile seemed to soften, as if he knew that I was thinking about Josh; originally, I would have found that impossible, yet this odd person didn't appear to know the definition of that word. In Elezar's vast and complicated mind, everything was possible; I wished that I could feel the same way, sometimes.

"Correct, you are, Rocky," Elezar replied, sounding a bit arrogant without realizing it, "But I sense that the hand of destiny for one of us is going to be turning soon. Verily, I think that it shall be in our best interest to sit and wait, for a storm is coming, and it is a force that is not to be tampered with."

I sighed slightly, pulling my hair further back into a ponytail for something to do. At this rate, Elezar would be ensuring that Fialla and I were going to starve to death in the arena, the opposite of what I had said in the interviews. I wasn't going to be another Katniss Everdeen, that much was clear, but that didn't mean that I had to die here. District Twelve's had only five Victors in the long history of Panem, so why couldn't I become the sixth one? Pondering on this, it was then that my keen ears heard what Elezar and Fialla wouldn't. I stood still, hoping that my suspicions would be proven incorrect, yet luck didn't seem to be on my side right now.

Motioning to Elezar and Fialla to continue down the tunnel, my younger ally was the one who caught on my drift. An odd expression, mixed with fear and excitement, grew upon Fialla's face. A frown appeared on mine; Fialla should look downright horrified to know what was coming. We should have moved faster last night, instead of lollygagging along, remaining uncomfortably close to the Cornucopia area. As a hunter, I knew that in this situation, weaponless, it would be all too likely for one of our alliance to die today. For our group had started as one of four, now three, and in moment, possibly two members. This, of course, was because the Careers were just around the bend of the tunnel; they were Tribute hunting.

While Elezar didn't really seem to care about the impending threat to our lives, Fialla and I on the other hand did. Each of us glanced quickly around, knowing that the Career Pack was too close to be outrun, leaving only the option of fighting them remaining. My curly haired ally almost half smiled, her eyes falling upon a jagged rock, the perfect size for her tiny hand. Quickly scooping it up, there didn't seem to be another one nearby, leaving Elezar and I practically defenseless. If only I had gone over to the hand-to-hand combat station, then I wouldn't be scared witless right now!

"Hey, hey, hey…," A voice started, the owner only becoming visible seconds later, "Look what we've got here."

"Two crybabies and a walking corpse," Leah, the red head one, replied in a snarky voice to Jackson.

Each of the Careers stepped into the light, looking more deadly than the one before them. Curiously enough, the recruit from District Three wasn't there, and neither was the girl from District One, Cashmere. Running my head through reasons as to why this must have happened, the only logical answer I could think of was that Malaya and Cashmere had been placed on guard duty. Still, those two scored decently, so if I had been them, I would have had Nicolas and Griffin be the ones to stay behind. But I wasn't them; it would have been disgusting if District Twelve had joined up with the Careers, even disgraceful. All of us, with a couple exceptions, had been forced into the Hunger Games; the Careers had a choice, a choice that they had agreed to out of the want to kill each and every single one of us.

"Talking about you?" I asked cheekily, sounding more confident than I really was.

The fourth Career, Griffin Holloway, glared at that comment. Even if the numbers didn't match up, I forced a smirk upon my face, trying to make it look as if I'm being underestimated. As if my actual sweet self had been little more than an act, a show to put on for the sponsors. When and if I won the Hunger Games, this would be one of the moments I would want to see, that way I could properly score my own acting talents. It wasn't really the time to think about that though, considering that Leah was looking through an assortment of knives, as if to choose which one would be fitting to skewer us with.

"Say that again and you're toast, Twelve," Griffin barked, taking a small yet not delicate step forward; he brandished a gold Japanese Long Sword in his hands.

Feigning terror, this personality didn't suit me at all, but it was my only weapon, "Oh no! Don't put me in the toaster! I'm not nearly ready for butter yet!" I exclaimed, thinking about the mysterious Capitol device that Effie had taken the pleasure of explaining to Josh and I.

This didn't seem to amuse Griffin at all, though Jackson emitted a chuckle or two. Drawing my eye to the copper haired boy, the District Two Tribute winked in my direction, as if the two of us were in on some dark and humorous secret. Despite trying not to, I smiled slightly at the Career boy, though it soon vanished; Jackson was another murderer, just like the rest. But I guess the time for talking's over, as Griffin approached Elezar and Leah approached Fialla. Naturally, that left Jackson and Nicolas for me to chose from; they didn't let me have that choice. Jackson Leo Ross grinned cockily, swinging his sword at his side, prepared to practically slaughter me.

"Let's dance then, eh?" he questioned, swinging his sword towards me.

Suddenly, the entire world seemed to be running in slow motion. The clean arc of the blade came hurtling towards me, yet a strange calmness filled my body. For a brief second, I could see Fialla and Leah lying on the floor, their weapons abandoned as they scratched and clawed at each other. Shining brightly, Leah's knife was too far out of reach, along with Fialla's rock several meters farther than that. Neither of them would give me any hope; Elezar currently dodged each of Griffin's attacks, impressive for his lack of training. Yet even moving slower or at least from my perspective, I wasn't able to completely dodge Jackson's slice.

A neat chop of brown hair fluttered down, landing on the floor quietly, though it felt as if an avalanche had struck to me. I jumped backwards, hoping that I would be as lucky as I could the first time. My opponent, Jackson, frowned, swinging upwards with the blade. Ducking down, to avoid it, there was no suspicion that it had been a trick, a trick to make me do exactly as I had just done. Dimly, I was aware of Elezar's face being beaten in, Leah Dagger crying out in pain as Fialla held her by the hair. It all melted away though, as the upwards cut turned into a thrust, driving the blade inside of my stomach. Arms flailing out, I stared in shook as my own blood graced the sword tip, an unbelievable pain spreading through me. The District Two Tribute drove his sword farther in, causing my now trembling and pail from to collapse against the wall.

Quickly, my entire life seemed to flash before my eyes, starting off from a point that I hadn't even been able to recall. Mother and Father playing with me, their eyes weary from working in the coal mines. Giggling in a sweet little white dress, holding hands with my friend Lilac as we observe the Reaping; we had only been six years old. At age seven, Mother and Father don't get out of the bed one day, only a weak mumbling noise when I had tried to rouse them. The next day, Peacekeepers had escorted me to the home of my only living family, my beloved aunt and uncle. Lisa and I go to school, in which I meet my childhood sweetheart, Cole. Four years later, Cole is killed in the Hunger Games, breaking my heart. My cousin comforts me for a month or so, yet I always think of him whenever someone fidgety is around. Food is running low, so I sneak out into the woods, breaking the law and teaching myself how to hunt, like Katniss Everdeen had done all those years ago. I'm fourteen now, hearing my name called out at the Reaping, watching myself as I shakily walk up to the stage. Crying one night in the Capitol, allying with Josh, joining with Elezar and Fialla; the flashbacks are speeding up now. The Bloodbath ensues, Josh's corpse filling my mind, before being followed by the partial Career Pack meeting up with us. A sword is driven into someone's body, right when the memories are becoming fuzzy and tangled.

Breathing is absolutely horrid, a bright light practically blinding me. Where am I? Am I at home, is Lisa pointing a flashlight in my face? Movement proves to be difficult, as I can barely manage to twitch my finger, a burning sensation in my upper body distracting me. What's happening to me? Eventually, not a single breath of air will stay in my lungs, shifting shapes and figures becoming the colors red and silver. As if someone had struck me across the head, everything becomes clear, but for only a moment. Fialla's sprawled on the floor, yet Leah doesn't appear to be moving; how odd. And Elezar isn't anywhere in sight, and for that matter, Griffin isn't either. It blurs again, just giving me enough time to figure out what exactly happened.

I've lost the Hunger Games.

* * *

Cashmere Combe:

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

Fialla Howards:

Nicolas Riddle:

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

Cassius Lisette:

Juniper Griffin:

Axel Treefall:

Willa Hellmans:

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Rocky: When it came time for you to pass on, tears started welling up in my eyes. You were such a strong and compassionate character, the type of person that you would want as a friend. Even if Josh died in the Bloodbath, you gave him guidance and hope, something that he hadn't had. More so, Rocky, you're vastly determined, prepared to do whatever it takes. From the point that your parents were killed, everything could have gone downhill for you, but it didn't. Instead, you were able to survive; not every person would have been able to do so. I really wish that you could have won the Hunger Games, but because you believed that everyone should be able to be the Victor, you had to lose. Rocky, you were just too sweet to win; the Hunger Games would have destroyed you inevitably. Yet rest assured that Elezar, Fialla, Lisa, your uncle, your aunt, and I will miss you dearly; perhaps you will be able to see Josh and Cole again in the afterlife. Rocky Nightlock, may you rest in peace. **


	26. Drowning from a Broken Heart

_Griffin Holloway (17), District One Male-POV_

Satisfyingly, the sound of a cannon breaks through the harsh silence. Though it didn't make any difference to me who it was, I can't help but hope that is was Fialla, that brat from District Four. She deserved to be dead right now, just because she had evaded the Bloodbath, making us Careers look bad for not allying with her. Yet who could blame us? That innocent little girl had a brace on her back, which would undoubtedly slow her down in the arena; Fialla Howards never will nor could win the Hunger Games. After all, I'm in this arena; no one else is going to have the slightest bit of a chance if I can help it. Returning my attention to my current prey, my hopefully second kill in the Hunger Games, I smirk at him maliciously. The gold sword of mine would feel even more divine in my grip as it sliced up Elezar, effectively eliminating the boy who had though that he had the nerve to score a twelve. Elezar Brewen should have known better, he should have been thinking instead of staring at me with that lopsided grin of his.

"I see that purification by water is necessary, Griffin Holloway," he stated arrogantly, not bothering to look towards me.

What is this guy thinking? I'm the hunter, the one who calls the shots, not him. In fact, that boy from District Five should be on his hands and knees thanking me for ending his existence. Which, if I do say so myself, has turned out to be a rather pitiful one. Really, there isn't anything that Elezar should want to live for anymore, the same with each other Tribute in the Hunger Games. I narrow my eyes, my inner thoughts resolved, and prepared to come out looking glorious once more to the Capitol. Slightly, a trickle of light reflects off of the lake, the very section of the mines that I had chased the District Five Tribute into.

"I'd say that you should go first then, Five," I growl, darting forward, my sword extended outwards towards Elezar's neck.

Exasperatingly, the Tribute slowly holds up a bony finger, then knocking the tip of the blade away calmly. If it wasn't for this being the Hunger Games, or I holding a sword, intending to kill him, then it may have seemed that we were merely having a pleasant chat. Of course, that would be if you only read his lines, completely and utterly ignoring my own. I swung the blade towards Elezar again, this time nicking off a bit of skin; smiling apologetically, I proceed to trail a firm line down him. To his credit, Elezar didn't whimper in pain, even as the sickly looking line of blood grew thicker and thicker.

"You know what?" I begin, speaking loudly, "I think I'll take my time with you…Savor the moment."

Flipping my sword around, I jabbed the butt of it towards my target, yet instead only hit empty air. Staring calmly at me, Elezar backed up more, continuing until he had almost made it halfway back to the Cornucopia room. Despite whatever his intentions were, there wasn't any way that I would allow Cashmere to take the credit for his death, meaning that I would have to keep him from going through that metal door at all costs. Leaping towards my opponent, the slice of my sword stopped him in his tracks, causing Elezar to teeter on the edge of the pool. A smirk graced my face once again, completely confident that I had him exactly where I wanted, something that Dragon wouldn't have ever been able to do. Alura's mischievous giggle came to mind at that though, but I quickly pushed all memories of her aside; distractions would only hinder me in the Hunger Games.

"Cease this now," Elezar muttered, sounding troubled, "The hand of destiny is not demanding for this to happen! I am here for a reason! I have a purpose; the entire reason that I have come into this Hunger Games!"

Staring at him with a mocking expression, I laughed easily and shook my head, "Your death, by my hands, is the only purpose that you're going to get. Now don't throw a fit, Five, it's not going to help you in the slightest."

Another cannon cut off my tiny speech, but it didn't bother me in the very slightest. All that I had to focus on now was killing Elezar, ensuring that the boy from District Five wouldn't live to see the light of day ever again. My leg raised, a light tap towards the knee caused Elezar to buckle only slight, and followed up with a round kick, Maui Thai style, he was sent crashing into the lake. The resulting splash was larger than it should have been, increased in size by the unsightly flailing motion that the District Five Tribute had made on the way down. A couple blinks became necessary, as having water in my eyes must have been one of my least favorite pastimes; still, it would be fun to watch him drown. Practically no one had approached the swimming pool during training, and if Elezar had, I bet he would have been praising Buddha or whatever he does in the little kiddy section of it. Snorting slightly, my well trained eyes gaze over the water, knowing that either I or Elezar would be granted a close-up right about now.

Stillness erupted under the water, I almost sighing from disappointment. Part of me had hoped that Elezar would struggle more, yet there had not been a single sign of him as of yet. Reluctantly, I stepped forward, crouching down until I rested on the little rocky wall that encompassed it. A couple stray pebbles resided there, including a brightly colored orange one that didn't quite match the rest of them. Flicking the orange rock into the lake with my pointer finger, a small ripple appeared, disturbing what had otherwise been peaceful serenity. Any moment now, Elezar Brewen's cannon would be bound to go off, to announce to the entire world that I, Griffin Holloway, had slain the District Five Tribute in glorious combat.

Suddenly, a bony hand gripped my arm, my muscles tightening in response. Before I could even think about whom the attacker might have been, the possibility of it being a zombie appeared to be the only one that could fit. After all, Elezar Brewen is most certainly and undeniably dead, nothing could have saved him that long. The Capitol must have had a malfunction with their cannons, the reason that I hadn't heard a blast to signify his death. Though, it didn't matter to me all too much as I was being pulled into the deep and murky water by the zombie attacker. Using all of my upper body strength, I ripped my arm towards the east side of the room, only succeeding in throwing myself off balance. Another bony and slippery hand grasped my arm, my method of staying upright falling to pieces; my feet were hanging awkwardly off of the rock wall. Without any other method, all I could do was pull desperately, hoping that whatever this mutation was would release me at once; they shouldn't be killing off Careers, a guaranteed Capitol favorite.

"Someone…," I muttered, the coolness of the water becoming evident as the creature had dragged my entire arm inside of the lake.

As if it hadn't been going as hard as it could have, my entire body was submerged in an instance. Breath escaped me, my lungs refusing to be relieved with the probably tainted lake water, which tasted of metal. Each movement of my only free arm, the left one, proved to be futile; the thing continued to drag myself down further and further into the lake. A speck of green breaks through the dark water, causing myself to chamber my knee in tight and kick out. Unfortunately, it only succeeds in creating bubbles to float towards the surface, and consequentially only aids my attacker. Would Alura be watching this right now? Would my father? What…What if my mother could see me right now? No…I can't let myself fail! I must be stronger!

A stream of bubbles comes out of my mouth, originally being a vast and complicated insult for whatever had grabbed my arm in the very first place. Thrashing around wildly, the tight hold loosens only slight, bringing to my attention a basic drill I should have already done. An old self-defense technique, one commonly practiced in the Martial Arts dojos in District One, would have been such a great thing moments ago. Inhaling the water, only a couple black spots invade my vision, letting me know that while I have time to continue my fight, it is rapidly running out. Grabbing my right hand with my left, a quick jerk upwards does exactly as it was intended to, breaking the grip of the terrifying creature. The science of it was quite simple to understand; it was my arm versus the two thumbs of whatever that thing was. Kicking again as I had before, my foot catches the rubber like material that our clothes had been made out of, though I heed it no mind.

Jumping out of the lake, I gasp for breath, thinking hard about how close I had been to death. Lying on the ground nearby is the golden sword, splattered with tiny droplets of the dreaded water. Still breathing rapidly, I pick it up and point it towards the water, not wanting to see what had become of Elezar Brewen. Instead, running straight back to the room that I had come from, with each and every intention of dragging Jackson, Nicolas, and Leah back to the Cornucopia; we desperately needed to strategize more effectively.

_Nicolas Riddle (16), District Four Male-POV_

Observing the others fighting, I couldn't have felt any more useless. Leah and Fialla were like raging demons, pulling at each other's hair and biting whenever they could. Really, I'd never see My Little Enigma fight like that, a steely complexion gracing her usually blushing and innocent face. It's something that came off as extremely curious to me, as I'd never seen her fight like that; no doubt that Fialla would be receiving tons of sponsors as if late. Biting my lip slightly, the hated emotion of regret filled me; regret that the feisty little demon hadn't been in the Careers from the very start. I cracked a grin when Fialla brought her tiny fist down on Leah's head, the same exact way that we'd kill a wily fish for supper in District Four. Naturally, it didn't kill the District Two Tribute, instead only causing her to fall unconscious; Leah would probably want Fialla's head on a stick by the time she came to. Looking extremely full of sorrow, though not necessarily tired, my District Partner collapsed on the ground, drawing my attention back to Rocky and Jackson. Just as the last time I'd snuck a look at the two of them, the Career appeared to be totally in control of the situation; it would have been odd for it to be the other way around. A beautiful color, bright red, the symbol of passion and betrayal, spilled from Rocky almost endlessly. With a final thrust, driving so far forward that the hilt touched the District Twelve Tribute's chest, I watched Rocky's final moments with morbid fascination. An odd flicker appeared in her eyes, a cannon sounding off as the vibrant hazel color became dulled; that left only eighteen more Tributes until I'd return to District Four.

"That was almost too easy," Jackson commented, roughly pulling his sword out of the corpse, then tossing the latter aside.

Shrugging, I said, "What do you expect, Ross? She's Twelve; they think that coal turns into pearls there…"

The District Two Tribute laughed comfortably, wiping off the blood on his sword on his pants leg. Red against black, it proved to be a picturesque combination; hopefully the cameras were getting a decent shot right about now. Shifting my gaze to Fialla, the only one in the alliance remaining, as a cannon had sounded off just moments before. Most likely, Griffin had succeeded in killing the ignorant Volunteer from District Five, or he'd died trying. Just because Enyo Barren, a District One Tribute, had won the Hunger Games last year doesn't mean that District One gets to lead the Career Pack. That position is earned through hard work and dedication; quite frankly, I'd imagine myself to be a better leader than Griffin. Bringing my attention back to the matter at hand, a flaw that I found Jackson exhibiting so far, Fialla's brown eyes widened upon taking in Rocky's bloodied corpse.

"Rocky…," Fialla whispered, slowly standing up, a single tear sliding down her cheek, "You…You killed her…I'll…I'll make you pay for that!"

She reached quickly behind her, grasping the knife that Leah had been yielding by the blade, not caring when it sliced the palm of her hand open slightly. More of the color of passion spilled on Fialla, helping the innocent and sweet look that she always seemed to carry around her vanish quickly. Narrowing my eyes, an aura of hysteria was the vibe I was picking up from Fialla, another contradiction to the limits of her personality that I'd defined long, long ago. Could Fialla finally be falling into the Career mindset? Hopefully, that wasn't true; we didn't need to be seen struggling when potential sponsors were watching and analyzing us eagerly.

"Fialla…," I cautioned, not noticing as Jackson scooted off to the edge, not minding being an observer this time, "Put the knife down, I don't want to hurt you."

Laughing quietly, not the normal giggle, but an insane chuckle came out of Fialla's mouth. She flipped the knife lightly in her hand, making it look as easy and normal as brushing your teeth or tying an overhand knot. The back brace didn't hinder the Tribute girl in the slightest, making her somehow seem more intimidating as she stepped towards us, pointing the blade towards our chests.

"You already hurt me," Fialla stated softly, an expression of remorse flickering across her delicate features for a moment; "You lied to me, each and every day! I...I thought you were different! But you're not, _Nicolas_! You're just like all of the others; a giant, sexist, pig!"

"What?" I questioned, not believing what I had heard come out of the mouth of the normally sweet minded girl, "What did you say?"

Fialla merely stated the entire thing again, standing only an inch away from me, still brandishing that knife. Copying the lead that Griffin and Jackson had set when it came to weapons, though modifying it slightly so we wouldn't all be identical, my short sword felt heavy in my hands. Could I really fight her? Not only was she my District Partner, someone who I couldn't kill without being scorned by all of District Four, but she was…she was…I don't know who she was anymore; the girl who stood before me didn't sound like Fialla anymore. A searing pain, running up and down my chest dragged me out of my dilemma, looking into the wild glimmer behind the soft brown eyes. Following her gaze downwards, my chest had been cut open, the letter 'F' carved into it, bleeding quickly.

"No," I reprimanded, grabbing her by the shoulders, ready to shake her silly when…

I just couldn't do it, releasing her instantly despite my survival instincts screaming at myself to snap her neck. Quickly afterwards, the short sword returned to its former position, hanging out of a belt that Cashmere had been able to fashion for me. Sea green stared into her brown eyes, leaving myself feeling vulnerable and defenseless; I didn't think that Fialla would have it in her to kill me, but peradventure I am wrong about that. That maniac shine contradicted everything I knew about her, grabbing all my attention when Fialla swiftly raised her knee, hitting me in a rather sensitive spot. Bending down, everything told me that I should be hurting her, that I should be happy to watch her suffer, but my well trained body refused to lift a single finger. What would Sapphire be saying about me? Probably that I'm a romantic sissy, that I never should have Volunteered for the Hunger Games.

"Why not?" Fialla seethed, "You never cared about me! Ever!"

Another knee sent into the same exact spot, caused pain to spiral through me again, "Th-that's not true, En-Fialla!"

A violent storm seemed to be swimming through her eyes, probably knocking any sense of reason she had out of her. Vaguely, I was aware of someone else sprinting into the cavern, muttering slightly with Jackson; probably asking why I hadn't killed the pipsqueak yet. Bewilderment grew inside of me, wondering why neither of the other Careers was trying to aid me. Did they not care about me? Yes, they probably wished that I would be dead already; it's the only logical answer.

"Prove it then," Fialla whispered, stabbing me swiftly with her knife before running off into another section of the mines.

Groaning in pain, hopefully I hadn't lost too much blood; I wanted to be able to keep on going. The entire world was swimming before me, turning a violent array of colors, all of them that I had ever known. As I hit the ground, I can't help but wonder if this is what death feels like…

Has My Little Enigma killed me?

* * *

Cashmere Combe:

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

Fialla Howards:

Nicolas Riddle:

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

Cassius Lisette:

Juniper Griffin:

Axel Treefall:

Willa Hellmans:

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Unknown Tribute: Death and identity will be revealed next chapter**


	27. A Killer Bird

_Tetra Comn (16), District Eleven Female-POV_

Tiny and delicate, I watched as a beautiful white parachute seemingly appeared out of nowhere. It fluttered down towards me, reminding myself of birds and Alouette, a friend of mine back in District Eleven. Just like the parachute, Alouette climbed down from the trees gracefully, her skin a sweet cocoa color, the only difference between the two. Out of all my friends, Alouette would have been the most genuine, the one that is probably rooting for me to come home from the Hunger Games right now. A lot of people like me, even if they don't act like it; something called peer pressure, I think. And on one Reaping Day, she'd even looked in my direction for a brief second, smiling at she twittered out a hello! Of course, one of the District Eleven Mentors, Jabber, happened to be Alouette's guardian, meaning that we didn't see her all too much, besides work. Part of me wondered what those big, fancy, and grand houses in Victors Village must have been like; I'd find out soon enough though.

"To Tetra…," I murmured, reading aloud from a tiny white tag, "Good luck!"

Pausing, staring down at it quizzically, it didn't seem to fully comprehend. After killing that boy from District Six, not to mention the girl from District Nine, everyone should have known that I would be able to easily win this. As such, they didn't need to waste their precious reserves of good luck on me; someone else, probably in this very arena, needs it more. Turning my gaze to fall upon the dismantled corpse, separated into five different pieces, part of me frowns; Cassius' blood didn't taste nearly as good as Cedar's. A surge of hunger rippled through me at that very thought, returning to my attention that my supplies mainly consisted of weapons, and whatever this sponsor gift held.

Relaxing against the rock wall, blood knife lying down by my knee, I rip off the flimsy white string. The box that it had been contained in pops open, revealing something that I had only seen in the very finest parts of District Eleven, or in the Capitol itself. Iced completely with a rich and creamy white frosting, a tiny cake sits before me, red lettering staring up at me. Quickly reading over it, the message is similar to the one on the tag, the one written in the handwriting of Bess Holly, my designated Mentor for the Hunger Games. But of course, they had neglected to send in a fork with the delicacy, no doubt intended to positively motivate me to kill a dozen more Tributes today. Did Persei receive the same thing? Probably not; he didn't look like the serial killer type, whilst I found that I did. Reaching for the knife, flesh with Cassius' blood; I stabbed it into the cake, tearing off a piece of it. I popped it into my mouth, savoring the white cake with chocolate filling; Bess must have known that this had been my favorite.

"You know, Cassius," I called out, looking at the mangled head, "You probably would have liked this. We rarely ever got cake back in District Eleven," pausing slightly, I swallow the mouthful of cake, "And I doubt that you'd get it in District Six either."

_Like a bird, I sit perched up high, barely able to keep from teetering off of these rocks. Below me awaits my prey, whistling and humming to himself as he kicks a rock. Examining him over, my bow and arrow doesn't seem to be nearly as fun, though I've always been a bit terrible with knives. It must have been some sort of stroke of luck that I had killed Cedar Tremaine so easily in the Bloodbath, one of my favorite parts of the Hunger Games. I notch an arrow, pulling on the string a bit to test it, the same way I had done upon killing my father; his death had been painless, a complete and utter shame. Smiling to myself, the string was pulled back all the way this time, my elbow parallel to the ground perfectly. A whooshing sound fills the air as it's released; the loud sound of a cannon comes next. _

"_Another bites the dust!" I exclaim, jumping downwards, rolling to break the fall, and coming up in a crouch near the corpse._

_Gray eyes looking lifeless, the expression of mild amusement is forever etched on his face. Cassius doesn't look as good as he could, I decided, pulling out the knife again. I hack away at his body parts, separating arm from torso. Eventually, the dead Tribute looks slightly better, though it's horrible that his eyes are staring up at me. With the blade of the knife, pushing onto the eyelids with the tip, the gray eyes eventually became closed. I stepped back to admire my handiwork, only slightly disappointed that he hadn't screamed when he died…_

By the now, the cake had almost been gobbled up completely, yet I kept dwelling on those final moments of his. For one matter, I didn't even have the faintest idea as to what dying felt like. It could be very possible that I was only helping my prey, enlightening them perhaps, though that sounded like an opinion that the District Five male would carry. Then again, they could be in undeniable pain, the entire reason that some of them shriek and writher; my mother had been that way. Of course, there wasn't any way for me to find out for sure until I myself passed away; according to my score, that wouldn't be happening for a while.

After emptying Cassius' pockets of whatever he may have had, not to mention finishing off the cake, I figured that I might as well allow them to collect the body. Yet then again, they'd have to pull off some sort of trick, just as they had done with the sponsor gifts. Part of me wanted to watch and see what would happen, but the faint babble of voices came from a cavern on my left- nicknamed by yours truly "Panther Peak" because it seemed like a good enough name to me. Nodding towards the fallen soldier, as if to pay my respects, I swept off again into the darkness, hoping to have more blood on my hands before the cover of night falls.

_Nicolas Riddle (16), District Four Male-POV_

Dimly, I'm aware of Jackson and Griffin carrying me, Leah being tossed awkwardly over the former's shoulder. Muttering breaks through the façade, though not many of the words stand out to me, so I quickly cease my attempts at understanding them. A piece of red hair flutters into my face, along with a bit of mumbling, the name Matt being the only thing that I can pick out of it. Irritatingly, I wished that they could have carried us separately, but they must have been trying to save me from blood loss. Something back in training told me to keep the wound elevated above the head, but in my case, that would be downright impossible; just about each part of my body had been split open.

Really, it'd been all too shocking that Fialla had actually done that. Back in District Four, the sweet minded girl had been wrapped around my finger, doing everything that I had asked with that cute little blush of hers. I didn't think that she would have been the type to trick everyone, acting as if she had been innocent, when a coldblooded killer actually lived inside of her. No doubt her kid brother, Stanley or whatever his name was, had been in on the whole thing the entire time too. Grimacing, pain erupts through me again; I now know not to move a single muscle. Still, the entire story that had been drawn out inside of my head didn't add up completely correct; several pieces of the puzzle remained missing. Even if all Griffin, Jackson, and now Leah, were talking about was wherever Elezar had died earlier, that didn't seem to ring with the most importance to me.

Clearly, I can remember training with Sapphire, promising her that I'd be the next one in our family to the win the Hunger Games. Frizzy red hair filled my mind briefly, then morphing into the slightly more tamed locks of Leah Dagger, a disturbing sight to imagine; with luck, I'd never have to see anything like that ever again. Shaking the image away, gasping slightly as an almost unbearable pain ripples through me once more.

"-long does he have?" Griffin's voice rang out, some of his words lost in my daze.

A million possibilities ran through my head, the very first one being what I knew was true, despite how much I didn't wish it to be so. Upon Volunteering for the Hunger Games, a confidence had been around me at all times, merely because I had trained as hard as could be for it. Not to mention my dad, a Victor, had encouraged me along each and every step of the way; though everyone else had as well, especially Sapphire. The battered photograph of Enyo Barren comes to mind; destroying photos of other Districts' Victors had been a favorite pastime of hers. Though this time, I couldn't help but hope that she'd have to stick with beating up Enyo; if I couldn't win, I hoped that at least Fialla would. Despite being brutally assaulted, by my District Partner nonetheless, I couldn't help but not want her to die. Still, that didn't leave me any less determined to win the Hunger Games.

Right now, the only obstacle that stood in my way is these numerous cuts and gashes. Yet if Cashmere had been able to bandage Jackson again late last night yesterday, when we'd been trying to scope out the arena and proved failures at it, she should have been able to patch me up. Normally, breathing would have slackened then, knowing that I'd be fine, but it was critical for my lungs to remain in use right now. One of my greatest fears at the moment is that if I stopped, then they would give out, leaving District Four's finest Tribute to suffocate to death. Not only would that be humiliating to me, along with my District, it wouldn't help Sapphire at all when it came her time to enter the Hunger Games. In fact, the ginger haired girl had told me that she'd be Volunteering for the 177th Hunger Games; apparently, it had been her favorite number at the time.

"-weight. I don't see much use in it, Griffin," Jackson's voice interjected, yanking my head out of my thoughts for a brief moment.

Desperately trying to tune into their conversation, only bits and pieces continued to go through their head. Much like the brain teasers that the teachers assigned at school, none of them made sense to me; too bad there wasn't a convenient nerd to connect the dots for me this time. If only Griffin and Jackson could have spoken louder! Convinced that this entire thing was there fault, I opened my mouth to spit out horrible insults at them, completely forgetting about my current condition. And as a result, blood spewed out, landing on my face, along with staining Leah's hair an even darker red. I would have chuckled, had it not been for the abrupt shifting in weight, causing myself to grip my chest, the place where the slashes had been concentrated the most, in agony. The possibility of Cashmere being able to heal me feels as if it's growing fainter, though I know not to give up hope. One of the things that they drilled on us the moment we began training was to always keep an open mind, to not miss the chances at being able to survive.

"I say that we-" the snarky voice of Leah started, cutting into my thoughts.

When I was back in top condition, if that ever did happen, I'd be sure to yell at them for being so vague. They should have known that I had been able to hear them; they should have treated me with far more respect. Alas, it didn't occur the way I would have liked it to, barely anything did, as the black spots concentrated closer and closer together. This would have been a horrible way to die, but I had to tell myself that I wasn't dying. That I'm going to be all right; I'm going to be okay, leaving Fialla to be the one haunted over what has happened today. Nothing is going to get in my way, I'm going to win the Hunger Games without a hitch, I'm going to…

"-door. Him first, makes sense-"

A creaking noise filled the air, hurting my ears severely, but at least letting I know where we are. Out of the many exits going into the Cornucopia area, this is the one that we hadn't tested yet, but at least it would mean that I would be closer to Cashmere. Surprisingly, a shriek fills the air and I feel myself being thrown forward, hitting the ground roughly. Coughing up a mouthful of blood, the time to comprehend what is happening to me isn't available, as a chunk of white comes hurtling down towards me.

"Sapph-Sapph-Sapphire," I struggle to say, trying to warn my sister, but I'm too late.

The white chunk, which I've now discovered is pointy, connects with my head. Tremendous pain fills me again, setting my entire vision black, as I feel as if I'm fading away. Deep down, I know that nothing is going to be able to save me; I was a goner from the very start. Thinking of my sister, a sense of calm fills me, but only for a slight second as my thoughts shift to my mother. She had been right for not wanting to see me in the Hunger Games, for not wanting to watch her only son change into a monster. If only I could have known! None of this would have ever happened then! I wouldn't have died before I'd even started!

"ca-careful…," I managed to splutter out.

Feeling myself go slack, the last thing that I ever hear is the sound of a cannon…

* * *

Cashmere Combe:

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

Fialla Howards:

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

Juniper Griffin:

Axel Treefall:

Willa Hellmans:

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Cassius Lisette: As a Tribute, you were lazy, but as a person, you were remarkable. Being able to look after your father like that had taken tremendous strength, not to mention requiring you to be patient. People never really gave you credit for that, even thought you ingenuity was displayed on countless occasions. By creating that button, to run the entire shop automatically, you saved your father when no one else could. Not many Tributes, not to mention Victors, could have been able to do the same. Yet for you, Cassius, it never did seem to be enough; you were always looking for adventure. All you wanted to do was have fun, the reason that you died. Tetra, your murderer, wanted to have fun as well; sadly, your ideas didn't tend to match up in the end. Don't worry about your father; he's going to be fine; hopefully you'll find some excitement up in the clouds, getting to see your mother again for the first time in years. Cassius Lisette, tears are in my eyes now from your death, so may you rest in peace. **

**Nicolas Riddle: Originally, you were just another Career in my story, just another person that I'd have to write about. When Fialla had her crush on you, you reacted as if you didn't care, but you began to develop more, becoming more than one dimensional to me. Saying one thing, you felt another thing; if only you had had the guts to speak your mind. Your mother didn't want you to compete in the Hunger Games, though she didn't want to crush your dreams; don't blame her in the afterlife. Despite all of the wrong choices you had made, there was one thing that stuck out to me. Even if you Volunteered for glory, Nicolas, you saved the life of some scared young boy in the process; the existence of Careers prevents people from being unwilling to go into the Hunger Games. Coming off as the bad guy must not have been easy for you, but in the end, you realized what truly mattered. You realized the truest love, the love of family; to me, that's huge. Fialla will feel incredibly guilty, but not because she murdered her District Partner, she killed you. As such, Fialla, Sapphire, your father, your mother, the Careers, and I will regret your passing; may you rest in peace. **


	28. Death of a Song

**The song Cashmere sings is "When I'm Gone" by 3 Doors Down, so you can listen along to it if you want to.**

_Cashmere Combe (15), District One Female-POV_

Sitting with my back against the Cornucopia, the silence is broken with a cannon blast. Griffin, Nicolas, Leah, and Jackson must have been successful then; they'd been furious last night about only having six kills under their belt. Leaving me as the guard, four of them had set out, determined to either find that boy with the twelve or Malaya. Personally, I find it hard to believe that they didn't just kill her off in the Bloodbath when they had a chance. It would have saved me from listening to Griffin going on and on about how she outscored them; after all, I did outscore all of them. The odds were certainly in my favor, that much had been clear since the very beginning, before even I had known that I would be going into the Hunger Games. Counting up the dead on my fingers, only sixteen more times would I have to hear the cannon blast.

Would Emerald have done this well had she been the one in the Hunger Games? Honestly, I don't really know if she would have. Only once had I actually gone to a training session, while Emerald had been a regular over there; Pearl would have known. But then again, the older of my sisters trained regularly too, being more than slightly miffed when Enyo Barren had beat them to the stage in the last Reaping. Reflecting on that again, Emerald had been in fury that time too; she was more like a Career than I was. If my sister had been in the Hunger Games right now, then District One's female Tribute would have been the leader, charging off last night instead of milling through the supplies. If Emerald had her way, the Hunger Games would have been over five minutes ago; alas, she had no such say in the matter.

"_There's another world inside of me,_

_That you may never see," _

Singing that song felt fitting right now, especially since it would draw out wayward Tributes towards me. No one could really resist the pull of it, enhanced by my natural beauty; even drunken soldiers had sobered up at my cry. Leaning back against the golden structure, filled with wonders that many more Tributes would have wanted to pry open, a sense of calm came around me. So much so that I didn't bother to pay attention to the slight squeaking sound, pushing it out of my mind, more focusing on the flow of the music. Daydreams and imagination were brought to life when I sung, something that not many other people were able to do; if I had a camera on me right now, the Capitol would surely be in for a treat.

"_There're secrets in this life,_

_That I can't hide,"_

Running my hands through my thick locks, part of me wished for a hairbrush. While the District One Tribute last year, the Victor, had been more of a wild girl, I actually cared about my appearance slightly. All of my sisters were like that, raising and nurturing me to grow up to be the same way, even if they teased me on countless occasions. I loved them dearly, one of the reasons that I hadn't complained when assigned guard duty; part of me felt like pulling a Malaya and running off. Yet as a Tribute from District One, they had practically guaranteed me safety, not even daring to come after me whenever we would split. Gold eyes scanning over each of the doors, which I believe numbered to twenty six in total, one of them off to my right stood slightly ajar. How curious…

"_Somewhere in this darkness,_

_There's a light that I can't find,"_

I peer closer at the door, trying to see which one it was exactly. Really, I only remember doors four and ten being left open, as Leah had thrown a fit last night, threatening to abandon the alliance if we hadn't closed them. Really, that idea only made sense to me, so I had complied, managing to convince Griffin to do the same as well. Blurry from the distance, something that appeared to be a lopsided oval, squiggly in structure, had been stamped on it. According to my mental organization, that was door two, the door that Jackson had nearly lost his life behind. It had been a boring and dull process playing the medic, but at least it practically guaranteed that I would be safe. After all, Griffin, Jackson, Nicolas, and Leah didn't know the difference between beef jerky and a bandage. Truthfully speaking, they could barely even close up a wound; Jackson did a shabby job on himself, but at least it managed to save his life.

"_Maybe it's too far away…_

_Or maybe I'm just blind…,"_

If Jackson had died, I didn't know what I would have done. Out of the rest of the Careers, he was the only one who would actually talk and joke around. Jackson would pull silly pranks, grin at times where other people were fuming with anger, and doodle on your face with sharpie if he could manage to find one. On the other hand, pride issues also got in the way, so you really couldn't poke fun at him. Sighing slightly, it would have been so much easier if life could be normal right now, not the craziness that has spawned out of this arena. Yet out of all the mutations and such they could throw at us, I'm just crossing my fingers that an earthquake won't strike; we'd all be goners for sure. No one had been able to figure out a way out of our underground prison, so the verdict had been that there wasn't an upper part to this arena. District Thirteen had been assigned graphite mining, so it made sense that we would be fighting it out inside of a mine. Still, it didn't feel as if this would be the only thing thrown at us; that Gremlin girl had been famous for being wickedly creative.

"_Or maybe I'm just blind…,"_

The door, cracked open with a slight steam coming out of it, continued to give me an endless amount of bad vibes. Eventually, I stood up, grasping an exquisite rapier, and ventured towards it. An eerie chill covered the entire door, as if it hadn't been stuck down in the extreme heat of the arena. That's another thing that I'd noticed, and it made sense, as the further down you went, the closer to the inner core of the Earth you got. A small scowl is on my face, thinking on how the Tributes from Districts Twelve and Thirteen must have been partying when they discovered exactly where we had been sent. Sure, District Four has had the advantage with each sea arena, but they were Career Tributes. Careers were expected to excel in arenas, not the Tributes from the outer Districts. Sometimes, there have been talks that they had created the anti-Careers, a fear that Jackson, Nicolas, Griffin, and Leah had gone out to obliterate completely. From the cannon blasts that had fired so far, I'm almost certain that entire group had been crushed on Day Two, already being weakened on Day One.

"_So hold me when I'm here,_

_Right me when I'm wrong, _

_Hold me when I'm scared, _

_And love me when I'm gone,_

_Everything I am,_

_And everything in me,_

_Wants to be the one,_

_You wanted me to be,"_

Quickly grasping the firm steel door, I slam it shut, listening to the resulting crash echo around the cavern. Any Tribute who had managed to sneak their way in here would have prayed hard and long that I'd open it again, yet even I wouldn't do such a thing. While I may be sweet, unlike the other Careers, that doesn't mean that I'm not just as deadly. Actually, it makes me even more dangerous; people would never see me coming. They would have already underestimated me, guessing that I would have given them a chance to live, allowing them to scram off and save their sorry souls. But there's one similarity between Emerald and I; we are each fiercely competitive, allowing nothing to get in our way. Pivoting on my heel, silence greets my ears, though a tingling sensation tells me that I'm being watched. Yet after waiting for a minute, nothing comes, so I quickly dismiss the thought.

"_I'll never let you down,_

_Even if I could,_

_I'd give up everything,_

_If only for your good,_

_So hold me when I'm here,_

_Right me when I'm wrong,_

_You can hold me when I'm scared,_

_You won't always be there,_

_So love me when I'm gone,"_

Hunger strikes through my body, prompting myself to walk towards the Cornucopia. Not wishing to waste the precious source, as someone would have had to take a bit of time out of their day to provide it in the arena, I stepped towards the brilliant golden horn. A lock of dark hair obscured my vision, which I brushed aside plainly, rapier being held with my dominant hand- my left hand. People back in District One actually believed that left-handed Tributes would last longer in the Hunger Games, as most Tributes prepare to strike towards someone in a right-dominant stance. Unfortunately, they had never had a chance to prove their theories; most Tributes didn't even care about the smaller details like that. Like I, they were more focused on surviving than the silly debates people held to occupy their time, which we had an endless supply of, unlike the outer Districts who had to make each second count. In fact, some of them would have been better off in the Hunger Games than they would have at home, a morbid and depressing yet true statistic.

"_Love me when I'm gone…,"_

About to duck into the Cornucopia, the sound of breathing stops me in my tracks. Furrowing my eyebrows, along with turning around, the area looks as vacant as it had been moments ago. Rocks littered each and every surface, some of them showing more value than others, as they sparkle rich and beautiful hues; just about each color of the rainbow surrounds me right now. Stalactites hang from the ceiling, their points almost staring ominously down at me, as if they know the gruesome fate that all but one of us will suffer. Peeking up at them, they remain the same chalky white color, looking as if they'd fall down upon us all after one good shake; one of the many reasons I hope to avoid any earthquakes in this Hunger Games. No abrupt shaking occurs, leaving myself satisfied, yet scanning through the surroundings once more, just to be careful. Almost twins to the stalactites, stalagmites litter the area as well; they could have worked as seats, if there wasn't a danger of being speared upon sitting down. A tap lightly with my finger earlier had proved the fact; shinning red blood had been falling off of my pinky. Were they really that dangerous in the real world? If not, I would not be at all surprised that the Gamemakers had enhanced their features, to give a better, as well as deadlier, Hunger Games for the _deprived _Capitol.

"_When your education X-Ray,_

_Cannot see under my skin,_

_I won't tell you a damm thing,_

_That I could not tell my friends,_

_Roaming through this darkness, _

_I'm alive but I'm alone, _

_Part of me is fighting this,_

_But part of me is gone,"_

As I bend down slightly, to duck inside of the Cornucopia, I see a pale face out of the corner of my eye. Pretending to not have seen the Tribute, who I must say had exceptional hiding skills; she doesn't seem to have realized that I saw her as well. The rapier is still in my left hand, while the quick glimpse that I managed to catch didn't tell me if the unknown Tribute had been armed or not; my guess was that she was. That whole thing with door number two must have been planned, designed to draw my attention towards it, so the Tribute could sweep in and take our supplies right under our noses. Medical kits still sit off to the side, comfortably full with just about everything we could want in the arena, though the special Capitol medicine hadn't been placed in them at all. Off to the right sits our large food supply, spilling with oats and fruit, not to mention a handsome collection of dried meat. As always, we kept our weapons in the very back, by the tip, so that we would have more time to ambush our intruder. Yet as I sweep my gaze over our supplies, there isn't anything that looks out of place; if anything, it looks as if there are more supplies than when we started in here.

"_So hold me when I'm here,_

_Right me when I'm wrong, _

_Hold me when I'm scared, _

_And love me when I'm gone,_

_Everything I am,_

_And everything in me,_

_Wants to be the one,_

_You wanted me to be,"_

The taste of dried turkey, a particularly nasty commendation in our stock pile, fills my mouth as I bite into a piece of meat. High in protein, it's the thing that most Tributes will be wanting in the arena, along with citrus; people have lost the Hunger Games because of scurvy before. Washing it down with water, tasting of lemon from a thoughtfully placed flavor packet, I can picture Emerald making a face at if had she been here. Oh well, just another reason that it's better that I represent District One, along with the Combe family, than her. Katrie, the daughter of my father's brother, would have agreed with me, even if she didn't exactly love the Capitol. Still, Katrie and I had personalities most similar to each other; we were both pegged as the beautiful and sweet Combe girls. Of course, we don't see each other much as she lives on the south side of District One, while I live farther north; it made sense that Katrie wasn't the pale one. Pushing away the thoughts of home, which cause sadness to envelope me, I fill up the water bottle again. Whoever was sneaking around out there, they would have been smart enough to know that I would only come in here to get something; a bottle of water is perfect to lull them back into a sense of security.

"_I'll never let you down,_

_Even if I could, _

_I'd give up everything,_

_If only for your good,_

_So hold me when I'm here,_

_Right me when I'm wrong,_

_You can hold me when I'm scared,_

_You won't always be there,_

_So love me when I'm gone,"_

This time when I look around, the Cornucopia laying behind me, water bottle in hand, it's easier to spot the Tribute. Sitting off by a crop of rocks, the darkness cast by one of the open doors sets her in the shadows, a great way to camouflage her tiny form. If the girl, who I think is from District Ten, had been a larger sized Tribute, then there would have been no way that she could have snuck past me. But then again, where had Wednesday Vespers come from? All of us had scouted out the remaining doors, especially the one that Jackson had nearly died behind, to make sure that no Tributes would have been there. Not to mention that I'd created a couple of neat and simple traps, to keep the prey waiting while the hunters came in for the kill. Other Tributes would have been prowling the arena as well, trying to pick each other off, in some hopeless attempt to get home as fast as they could. Yet this little girl, who I doubted could even use the spiked mace in her hands, had somehow managed to defy the odds. The hairs on my back stood up straight again, warning me to kill this girl as fast as she could; something told me that it would be our downfall if we let Wednesday live.

"_Or maybe I'm just blind…"_

Something clearly was off about this particular Tribute, something that I desperately wanted to find out. But what if my gut feeling is completely correct? What if she was an omen, a vulture, a minion of Death, a…It didn't matter what I labeled Wednesday as; quite frankly, that little girl from District Ten gave me the creeps. If anything, people would have thought that I'd react to Leah that way; out of the Careers, I'd peg her down as the unstable one. Yet Leah and I had flocked together, possibly because our parents were each lacking in a certain area. From what I've been able to learn, she'd been physically abused, while I had been just ignored; neither of us could decide what was worse of the two. Another thing, Leah and I each had a brother that we'd die for; not many people, in my mind, could have claimed the same. All of them were busy training, hoping that they would achieve the great honor of entering the Hunger Games, despite the price of losing a relationship that they cherished. Had I done that? I hope that I didn't…Surely Emerald will understand when I come back as the Victor, right?

"_So hold me when I'm here,_

_Right me when I'm wrong, _

_Hold me when I'm scared, _

_And love me when I'm gone,_

_Everything I am,_

_And everything in me,_

_Wants to be the one,_

_You wanted me to be,"_

I turned my head sharply, acting as if I had heard a sudden sound out of a tunnel. Wednesday must not know that I'm toying with her; she has to believe that this is the real thing, that I'm not faking my ignorance of her presence. Stepping sharply forward, the same way Copper had shown me after coming home from band camp- he played the sousaphone- I walk towards the closest of the open doors. It shuts firmly when my dainty hands push it, though I have to pause for a second afterwards, purely for effect. This whole thing right now is all acting, purely for my audience of one, though there are thousands of onlookers who are cheering for one of us at this very moment. I don't doubt that just about all of them think as Wednesday did, that I haven't seen or heard her, and believe that District One will soon only have one Tribute in the Hunger Games soon enough. If I could see anything, it would be the look on their faces when I pounce upon Wednesday, the shock in their eyes as they realize that I had known of her being her the entire time. Well, it was a bit of a white lie, as Wednesday must have been in here for a while before I realized it, but they certainly did not need to know that…

"_I'll never let you down,_

_Even if I could, _

_I'd give up everything,_

_If only for your good,_

_So hold me when I'm here,_

_Right me when I'm wrong,_

_You can hold me when I'm scared,_

_You won't always be there,_

_So love me when I'm gone,"_

Looking back towards Wednesday, her cold eyes seem to narrow slightly, as if she's thinking up a plan of escape. Too bad that it won't be working for the District Ten Tribute, as I hastily walk towards the only other open door, closing it just as quickly as the ones before it. In my mind, the resulting slam was the same one that Wednesday heard, but it held a deeper meaning than she could have realized. All of the doors were now closed, sealing the fate of the unfortunate, albeit creepy, little Tribute. No other options were upon her now, besides fighting with that mace, but I still doubted that she could have had any talent with the thing. Only in Career Districts did people ever display decent skills with a weapon, with the exception of District Seven- they throw axes with impeccable aim as toddlers. Thinking back to the Hunger Games of Cypress Junos, a shiver ran down my back; hopefully Juniper and Axel didn't have a strategy that mimicked hers. That District didn't need another Mentor; they had one perfectly insane one on their hands already. But now wasn't the time to think like that, it was the time to strike, the time to kill Wednesday Vespers. Really, that girl from District Ten should have gone down in the Bloodbath; thinking back on it, I recall Jackson going after her.

Why hadn't he killed her?

"_Love me when I'm gone…_

_Love me when I'm gone,_

_When I'm Gone,_

_When I'm Gone,_

_When I'm Gone,"_

I blink slowly, ready to charge forward to meet Wednesday, when I realize that she isn't in her hiding place anymore. Instead, the girl from District Ten stands right in front of me, smiling cruelly up at me as if she had been the one toying with me all along. Before I can even slash at her with the rapier, the tiny thing swings up the spiked ball with ease, driving it into my head. Gasping out in pain, my sword clatters to the ground as my hands come up to my face, hot and sticky blood coming out quickly. If I were to live, a pounding headache would be with me for the rest of my life; everything is starting to look distorted. Two girls appear before me, identical in each and every aspect, but only one mace is swung; only one spiked ball is driven into my skull again.

Knees buckling, I collapse to the ground from unbearable pain, trying desperately to stand up. All I manage to do is slice at Wednesday's cheek, digging in my finger nails as best as I could, but it's useless. Picking up my own rapier, the last chords of my song echo through my head, as Wednesday aims my own weapon down at my throat.

"N-No…," I beg, "Pl-Please! Have mercy!"

Wednesday shakes her head, looking evil and cruel in every aspect, "Sweet dreams, Cashmere," she trills tauntingly.

With a clean movement of my hand, the girl from District Ten silences me forever more, right after I realize that she's a true Career…Not I…

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

Fialla Howards:

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

Juniper Griffin:

Axel Treefall:

Willa Hellmans:

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: First, I'd like to say that you were on my potential Victor list, that you weren't supposed to die like that. When I started writing the scene with you on guard, singing away, you were going to be the one toying as Wednesday. If you had managed to live, then you would have decided that Wednesday would be a good guard for the Career alliance, making her officially a Career. But that would only have happened had you not been determined to kill the girl from District Ten; unfortunately, you were. Because of your competitive side, there wasn't any thought in your mind that you could have spared her, instead fully intending on making a cannon go off once more in the arena. That's why you had to die, Cashmere; you got too into playing the game, just like some other Tributes in this arena that I won't mention. But let's not go all on the negative; let's look at the positive things about you. Out of all the Careers, you were my second favorite, another reason that you ended up on the potential Victor list. Being sweet and pretty was a combination that none of the others had, something that helped you stand out. You lost focus when you sang, but it's because it was so beautiful, so enchanting and mesmerizing. Yet that is why you had to die, Cashmere; you weren't paying attention in the fight for your life. Emerald, along with your other sisters, may not say it, but we will all miss you; may you rest in peace.**


	29. Survival of the Careers

_Leah Dagger (16), District Two Female-POV_

A second cannon fires five minutes after Nicolas' goes off. Neatly drilled into his head, a white chunk of stalactite is the culprit, the reason behind his death. The entire time I'd known that trap had been there, even if Griffin and Jackson had been oblivious to it; they were dunderheads anyways. That boy from District Four would only drag us down, would only soak through countless amounts of bandages, so it had been a very smart idea to me if we just killed him. While I believed that Jackson would have agreed with me, Griffin being the one standing opposed, it would be best if I didn't take any chances. By this time tomorrow, the rest of the Career alliance will be under my thumb, putting District Two back in its rightful place as leader of the Careers.

Quite honestly, people from District One didn't have what it took. On our hunting trips, we'd only been targeting specific Tributes, when we really should have been chasing down all of them. Soon enough, the anthem is going to start off, signaling that we only managed to get rid of four people today. Thinking back to my Mentor, Runa Young, who was probably muttering with Dratari about what horrible Careers the Capitol Reaped this year; personally, I'd have to agree with her. Only Griffin and I were out for blood, though he lacked a certain flair that I found to be needed in a Career Tribute. Oh, whatever, I'm going to be the one winning the Hunger Games anyways. Glancing over at the beauty queen, well, beauty king, Griffin doesn't appear to be bothered in the slightest at Jackson's death. I can't help but wonder if he's going to feel the same way when faced with his own; I really hope that he breaks down crying like the pampered baby he is. Besides, his brother, Dragon I think, had been murdered by that girl from District Eight- Gelle McDoe I think. Or had it been the girl from District Twelve? In all honesty, I couldn't care less about him; he was too puny for my tastes.

"Ten bucks says that was Yoda!" I jeer, trying to lift up the mood, as Jackson's staring ahead stonily.

Griffin rolls his eyes, "You don't have ten dollars, Dagger," he retorts, stepping carelessly over Nicolas' corpse.

Huffing, I pull out a narrow knife, the one that Fialla had managed to knock out of my hand, and stab Nicolas when I step over him. The feeling of the blade sinking through flesh causes me so much pleasure that I can't wait for Tribute hunting; there's no way I'm going to let Griffin put me on guard duty today. Besides, Cashmere's been doing a perfectly splendid job of it all on her own; no one's managed to rob us yet! It would have been a shame if I jinxed it though; maybe someone would kill Griffin in the process, like Cato had done to that District Three boy in his Hunger Games many years ago. A smile creeps onto my face at that thought, not just because the blood of the District Four Tribute covers my knife.

"Hmm…Wait a little bit and we'll see about that," I comment smugly, "The Victors of Hunger Games get tons of pay, Griff-Griff!"

My District Partner bursts out laughing, though it sounds a bit strangled from the stained bandage on his neck. Huh, guess Cashmere's going to have to patch that up again, otherwise I'll be the only one representing District Two once we make it to the final eight. Sponsors probably like me better anyways, as Jackson's quite frankly a chucklehead. Chuckleheads couldn't kill you nine different ways while playing one of Tchaikovsky's on the trombone. Still, it didn't matter all too much, as even Jackson would be dead soon enough; it'd be fun to see the look of shock on his loud mouthed sister's face. It had been almost too fun Volunteering after she had been Reaped; my only regret was that I hadn't been able to relish the moment even more than I had done.

"Griff-Griff?" Jackson questions, "I can see it now! 'It is my pleasure to announce the winner of the 175th Hunger Games: Griff Griff Hallway!"

Griffin glares, pointing his sword menacingly at Jackson, "Knock it off now, Ross. Or you're going to regret it!"

He raises his hands in surrender, and then charged towards the final door separating us from the Cornucopia. Another reason that no one would want to sponsor Jackson- he's a bloody coward. If that boy, Jet Newton, had come across him again, I wouldn't be completely surprised if he ran with his tail between his legs. Then again, we'd have to sow on another one of our precious bandages to make that fantasy possible. Tossing back my hair, just in case any of the cameras are focused on me right now, I walk out briskly, intent on talking to Cashmere about the horrors of the male Careers. Really, why hadn't we gotten a decent girl from District Four this year? At this rate, we may very well have to go on a casting call for Howards, drag her back here, and tell her that she's our newest member. Actually, that's a rather good idea; I'll make sure to remember it.

As soon as we open that door, the sight that I see isn't the one that I had been initially expecting. Maybe Cashmere would have been dozing off, poking at the ground with a stick, eating away at out supplies, but at least she'd be out in the Cornucopia. She wouldn't be absent from view, well, Cashmere wasn't completely absent. My own brilliant green eyes locked onto her gold ones, normally brimming with life, they're dulled while her face is frozen in an expression of bewilderment. Those dark black locks, rivaling my own fiery beauty, will probably remained hopelessly tangled until the Capitol stylists get to them. They'll be dressing up her corpse soon enough, making her look all pretty, until shipping her back home to District One. It bothered me a lot, actually, but I kept my face void of all emotion; friendships were only a weakness in the Hunger Games.

"Shame…," I remarked, trying to sound bored, yet my voice sounded more quiet instead, "Looks like we'll need a new guard now…"

Something wet is pooling up in my eyes, which I hastily blink away, not wanting to let the rich people in the Capitol know about how I cared for Cashmere Combe. If they ever did figure it out, then I could kiss all of my sponsor gifts goodbye; I'd never see one of my possible routes to obtaining victory of the Hunger Games. Watching the claw pull her body out of the arena, seemingly disappearing as it hits the rocky ceiling, I can't help but blink from wonder. How in the world are they able to do that? Just about every bit of information I paid attention to in science class screamed that it couldn't be done, that it just couldn't be logical, that it couldn't be possible…But there it was, standing there moments ago within the confinements of our underground arena.

Shaking my head slightly, not wanting the confusion to create a dull ache within it, I turn my attention to the smiling little girl. The small little number 10 on her sleeve helps me narrow her down; this must be Wednesday Vespers, one of the better scorers of the other Tributes. Judging by the bloody mace held in her pale hands, we're all face to face with Cashmere's killer right at this very second. Griffin's eyes meet Jackson's and I's, as if asking permission to kill her, but I shake my head no as an idea grows in my head. After killing a Career, it only makes sense that Wednesday would be worthy of becoming a Career; we were short a couple members anyways. Also, the creepy smile on her tiny face helps me know that she'll perform better than Jackson could, as she doesn't look like another chuckleheaded Tribute.

"Look what we've got here," I begin in a taunting voice, "A person who stained cashmere- didn't your mommy tell you not to do that?"

Wednesday has a pondering expression, fingering the mace lightly, void of any other supplies. Whatever her response is to this question will determine her fate, and I do believe that she understands that all too well. Peradventure that we won't need to go track down Fialla Howards after all; District Ten isn't all too shabby, working with livestock and such all day long. A couple of them were downright ripped; bursting with muscles that some of the weaker children in the Career Districts would have died for. Actually, they would have gotten them and died; unless they somehow managed to win the Hunger Games, like I would. Analyzing her, it's evident that she must have managed to sneak up on Cashmere, which probably wasn't all too hard, as the dead Career Tribute tended to zone out quite easily. Underestimating Wednesday is really all too easy to do, another plus for selecting her to be the guard; hopefully Griffin and Jackson, the dunderheads, won't argue with me about it at all.

"Oh…," Wednesday starts, looking like a child who knows they've been naughty, "My mommy's dead. She was weak, so it doesn't matter…Anyways, do you guys want to _play _a game?"

Taking that as acceptance, assuring that she'll be wonderful as a twisted and morbid Career, I smirk down at her. Griffin and Jackson raise curious expressions towards me, the latter picking at his bandage uncomfortably, probably wishing that Cashmere could be here to change it for him. Hopefully the District Ten Tribute will be able to serve as a medic as well; otherwise, we'll just have to make Jackson tough it out. Though, he's been a bit subdued ever since we witnessed Cashmere being taken away, but it's most likely because that means there are only three of us left in the Career alliance. But with the addition of Wednesday, and perhaps Fialla, we'll be strong and mighty once more, just like we should be.

"A game?" Jackson echoes; he's not too pleased to see the District Ten Tribute.

"Sure, but I think we ought to play as a team, Weddy," I coax, watching the girl's teal eyes buzz with excitement.

It's impossible to fight back a smirk as she accepts, as the Career alliance grows stronger once again. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to kill of Nicolas like that, but he hadn't been able to kill his District Partner, while she had been all too willing to maul him. If I had known that before the Hunger Games had even started, it would have been the other Tribute from District Four denied entry into the Career alliance; Fialla had actually gotten blood on her hands, Nicolas remained a silly pansy and sat out on the sidelines. Even Jackson, the knucklehead, had managed to kill the girl from District Twelve! Now, there simply was not a single excuse for the dead Tribute, so I didn't give him another thought in my mind. Cashmere, on the other hand, should have been able to live longer in the Hunger Games. The Cornucopia almost felt void of life without her, death and blood marring its sparkling shine that it had carried since we arrived on the very first day.

"Leah…," Griffin cautions, but I throw him a particularly nasty look and he stops dead in his tracks.

"Mind if I grab some supplies?" Wednesday asks, "I didn't manage to come away with much during the Bloodbath. Just my mace…"

"Yeah, sure thing kid," Jackson replied hastily, as if he wished that the girl from District Ten would just drop dead, "Take whatever you like."

The littlest Career smirks triumphantly before disappearing within the Cornucopia. Taking a quick peek towards my other allies, Griffin's sporting a quite magnificent glare; if looks could kill, then he would have won the Hunger Games right then and there. Really, he should have been on his hands and knees thanking me over our newest recruit. And when we decided that we didn't need someone to guard the camp anymore, then all it would take is a clean slice of a knife, or even just a simple snap of the neck, and we'd be rid of the creepy little girl as soon as she had come. Watching the ginger hair vanish inside of the vast metal structure, part of me can't help but be reminded of Matt; neither of them had a mother anymore.

"Why'd you do that?!" Griffin commands, coming over to me abruptly.

"Because," I huff, "Cashmere's kicked the bucket. Nicolas is off dancing in the great green meadow. This, in case you haven't noticed, leaves the Career alliance a bit short on members. If you kill a Career, then you are a Career…And besides, we'll just leave her as the camp guard and kill her when she's not needed anymore."

Evidently, this doesn't please my ally. Griffin throws another dirty look in my direction, as if he's so appalled by my existence, but I stand my ground firmly. Despite the fact that he stands a good foot or so higher than me, I can feel him wavering slightly under my own killer stare. Brushing my lips lightly against his neck, just to leave him guessing, I can't help but be reminded of another menacing Tribute in the Hunger Games. But unlike Griffin, the sight of his blood on my hands would do more than just make my day; I'm positive that it would instantly make me the Victor of the Hunger Games. Not many kills are able to make you feel like that, a fact that most of the Victors in District Two will inform new recruits at the training center.

"Then get rid of her right now!" Griffin challenges from afar, leaning against the rocky wall that confine us inside of the arena.

Muttering a couple choice words under my breath, I stick out my chin in refusal, yelling back in reply, "You wish, Griff-Griff!"

Our alliance had begun to get to that point where it would be best if we all split up. But right now, that thought hadn't even come across my mind; most Career Packs don't feel that way by the end of the second day. Surely, with our newest member, the novelty of the entire thing should keep the tempers even for a little bit longer, just enough to get it down so only eight Tributes are remaining in the Hunger Games. Otherwise, Panem will never forget the horrible Careers in the Seventh Quarter Quell.

We'll be a laughingstock for sure…

_Juniper Griffin (17), District Seven Female-POV_

Our tunnel's come to a dead end, something that makes me even more nervous. Yet with Axel's sponsor gift, a beautiful and deadly looking axe, we should be able to take anything that comes our way. But if Willa suddenly went into labor, as she'd been looking about the right size to burst to me, just about anything could happen to us. The Capitol might send the Careers running towards us, intent on murdering the three, or five, of us as quickly as they could. Or they'll put in a fearsome mutation, even worse than Dopples they had set on the Tributes a couple years ago in the Hunger Games. Creepy had been the main word for them; by touching it, the Dopple would become glued onto your skin, sucking off of your life until you remained a hollow shell. It then had the ability to mimic your voice, convincing allies that a friend was waiting for them around the corner, only to be devoured by the Dopple. Really, why did the scariest creations of the Capitol have to have such silly names? It's been puzzling me since I was just a little kid, but I hadn't yet found out the answer to it; I never will, too, as Axel's going to be the one winning the Hunger Games.

Abruptly, the Capitol anthem starts to play, nearly scaring me witless as it shocked me out of my train of thought. Axel glances worriedly towards me, taking his eye off of the pale and miserable looking Willa, silently asking if I'm okay. A light blush graces my cheeks, to which I nod; good thing no one in Panem will ever be able to see that, as they're too busy looking up at the Capitol seal. The very same seal that microscopic hidden cameras are projecting onto the grainy rock ceiling of the Quarter Quell arena. After a final musical flourish, the faces of the four Tributes who died today are revealed, done in District Order as always.

Gold eyes are the first thing that greets me, a sense of astonishment occurring as I discover that one of the deaths had been Cashmere Combe's. The Career girl has a far off look in her image, as if she couldn't be bothered to pay attention to us in the arena; a small voice tells me that it may have had something to do with the way that she died. Bewilderment is soon replaced by elation though; the Careers are down a member, leaving them with only five people, I believe. Slowly, the odds are starting to come in our favor; Axel's favor, I mentally correct myself before watching anxiously to see who is shown after the District One Tribute's face disappears. Out of the corner of my eye, a smug look is on Axel's face, as he's always felt a deep hatred for District One; he blamed his father's death on them, on Cypress too, when he really should have been blaming it on me. Feeling like crying, a bit of me feels glad when another image is finally revealed, after they finished recapping the death for the viewing audience back home.

A District Four Tribute is shown next, causing another pang of happiness to go threw me; only four Careers left to deal with now. The sea colored eyes of Nicolas Riddle glare down at all of us, as if trying to guilt trip his killer into repenting for his death. But of course, there isn't anything that Nicolas would have been able to do to us right now, as he had been killed hours earlier. Thinking back to the District Four Tributes this year, part of me wonders if they were in a relationship like Axel and I was, but I quickly dismiss the thought. Fialla had always appeared to be sweet and innocent, while her District Partner had been the horrible opposite of that. Nicolas' father had been a Victor though, and since he Volunteered, I can't help but believe that the Riddle household will be a bit more than shaken up tonight. Or right now, I mean…Time's getting frustratingly difficult to tell here in the arena; only the showing of the dead Tributes lets us know how long we've been here, though it doesn't really mark the hours either.

A vacant looking Tribute, Cassius Lisette, is revealed to be the third person who died in the arena today. Hailing from District Six, there isn't much else that I had known about the boy. For the entire time that we'd been in the Capitol, all I could remember about him was that his eyes were always searching, as if there had been something that he had been looking for. Other Tributes in past years had been like that, looking for Peacekeeper parents or Avox siblings that had never returned home, but that theory didn't feel like it fit exactly right for Cassius Lisette. Some big and complicated story had been silenced; a life that may have been full of great pain and tremendous joy snuffed out like one would blow out a candle each night. There hadn't been any thought to it; it had been mindless murder, a favorite of the cruel and unforgiving Capitol. I wished that I could have reached out for him, that I could have added Cassius to our little alliance, but it probably would have made it only harder for Axel to win the Hunger Games. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes because even though I didn't know Cassius, that didn't make him any less human to me; someone had died today in the arena, someone that wasn't a bloodthirsty monster. And maybe, just maybe, there could have been something that I could have done to prevent it. Guilt swirls through me, the worst kind of feeling, causing each bone in your body to become unsettled until you finally cannot take it anymore. Biting the inside of my cheek, all I want is to run away from the Hunger Games as fast as I can, making sure that Axel comes out alive, but I can't do that. I'm stuck here until the Capitol decides that they're done with me…

Finally, the sweet face of Rocky Nightlock is shown up in the sky. A sad smile is on her lips, as if Rocky had already known about her fate when the picture had been taken. Looks like District Twelve is out of the running this year, leaving them with only one Victor, whose name always seems to forever slip my mind. Poor girl, I couldn't help but think, recalling what a wonderfully compassionate soul Rocky had been. From what I'd seen, she'd taken Fialla, the District Four Tribute, under her wing, and hopefully helped her get over whatever thing she had going on with Nicolas. It made me feel bad to think this way, but the dead Career Tribute was just bad news; anything with 'Career Tribute' in front of it made most of us want to hurl or cry out in fear. Biting down on my cheek harder, the resistance the skin had been giving gave up, the warmth sensation of blood filling my entire mouth. After a moment's pause, I swallowed it down painfully, wishing for some water, but we had ran out this morning. To make matters worse, the only source of it here seemed to be the lake, which everyone understood to be strictly Career territory, along with the dreaded and cherished Cornucopia.

Right as Rocky's picture begins to fade, a sudden gasp catches my attention. Beads of sweat line Willa's forehead, who's desperately trying to breathe as much as she can. Axel stares on helplessly, as if not sure wherever to try and comfort his ally or save her. Our eyes lock onto each other, a desperation coming out of the District Eight Tribute's. Letting loose an anguished cry, Willa's dainty hands fly to her swollen belly, already tipping me off on what was about to happen.

"Juniper…," Willa whispers, barely audible over the sound of the closing anthem, "You know how I said I wasn't near to being due in the interview…?"

"Yeah?" I reply uncertainly, already dreading where I knew that this was going, but the blonde haired girl seemed to be determined to speak it out loud.

"I…I lied," she finishes, letting loose another cry, sounding more painful and louder than the first one was.

Nodding, as there was a lack of anything else to do, I sprang towards her. Not a single time did it cross my mind that the other Tributes would undoubtedly hear us, probably even kill us while our backs our turned. My District Partner shouldered his axe, following a train of thought that I had completely missed, and stood a couple spaces away from the two of us. I let loose a sigh, and then I try to attempt to do something that I had only heard of being done. Never had I dreamed of something like this happening in the Hunger Games; it felt as if it should be against the rules.

But then again, there's a first time for everything, right?

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

Fialla Howards:

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

Juniper Griffin:

Axel Treefall:

Willa Hellmans:

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:


	30. Day One and Two: Family Reactions

**And now, we journey to the Districts to see the Family Reactions. These will be told in third person POV, as I do plenty of first person POV with the Tributes. The time on these is staggered; some of them are Bloodbath reactions, others are Day Two reactions. I've updated twice today at the insistence of FireBreadandSnares; she better review! XD Kidding, kidding…Anyways, here is the result of the poll! It'll be replaced with a, "Which Female Tribute in the 175****th**** Hunger Games would you date?" poll in a second for the readers who prefer the female gender. **

**1. Jackson Leo Ross with 4 votes**

**2. Nicolas Riddle with 3 votes**

**3. Jitz Low, Elezar Brewen, and Axel Treefall with 2 votes**

**4. Abe Mercer, Ether Lessing, Persei Baxwoll, and Jet Newton with 1 vote**

**5. Griffin Holloway, Cassius Lisette, Ebon Furial, and Josh Quick with no votes**

**Personally, I would have voted for Jackson as well if he wasn't too old for me…Oh well! On with the chapter!**

* * *

**District One: Combe Family**

When Copper watches the recap of his sister's death, part of him believes that this is all a horrible dream. That when he wakes up, Emerald and Ruby will be preparing for the Reaping, shooting evil glares at Cashmere while doing so. His little sister couldn't have possibly gone into the Hunger Games, let alone be killed by a twelve year old weakling from District Ten. Nothing in his mind would allow that to happen, but deep down, he knew that it was the truth. The pain of Pearl gripping his hand tightly just proved that he wouldn't be waking up from this reality, that this is the real world and there wasn't anything he could do now. It's too late now; Copper Combe thought painfully, Cashmere's already been killed. There's nothing to do now but bury her and cheer on whoever is going to kill that Wednesday girl. If Copper had been eligible for the Hunger Games, then he surely would have Volunteered, to avenge his sister's murder. In one swoop, he had been left with the bratty ones, the only one that he actually liked being killed for millions to watch and cheer on her killer. Copper's eyes begin to get moist, as such, he's about to go off somewhere else when Pearl shakes her head, holding him down in the seat; she needs him to.

"Cashmere…?" Emerald whispers, an intense look of regret on her face.

Slowly and surely, Emerald is regretting the actions she had taken that Reaping Day. If she had known what she did now, she wouldn't have been as mean to her little sister. Emerald's twin, Ruby, is staring guiltily at the floor, their other sisters copying her example. They all know that they didn't treat Cashmere the way they should have; all of them wished that they could have apologized. But they couldn't now; there wasn't any way in the universe that they could have changed what happened today. And with none of them being eligible for the Reaping, only their cousin Katrie would be able to avenge their beloved sister.

"It's too late now…," Pearl sighs, feeling angry at her parents.

Once again, they were absent from Cashmere's life. All they did was fawn over the older Combe girls, not cherishing the youngest one, the one that isn't alive anymore. In all of Cashmere's fifteen years of life, never did Pearl believe that her parents had actually paid her as much attention as they should have. It's a horrible shame, but mulling over her thoughts once more, Pearl sadly had to label it as truth.

"I don't want it to be over…," Ruby mumbles, her voice sounding morbid.

"No one does," Pearl states firmly, "No one does…"

**District Three: Lowe Family**

Back in District Three, Frita is the saddest that she has ever been in her lifetime. Before her own eyes, the optimistic woman had watched the life pummeled brutally out of her son. There wasn't anything for her to be happy about right now, even Lenny wouldn't have argued with her about that; they both were missing their son. Had his last days been happy, Frita wondered. Ever since Jitz had left for the Capitol, in which Frita had been rooting for him the entire time, she had noticed a fact that came off as quite disturbing to her. Without her son, the entire house was brimming with life and happiness, products of her optimistic viewpoint. To her conclusion, this meant that Jitz really did suffer from some sort of depression, but at least that meant he had been put out of his misery now. There had been so many times where she would walk into a room, tell Jitz to pick up his jacket, and feel that stab of pain shoot through her. Jitz wouldn't be coming home to them; it would just be Frita and Lenny for a while.

"Oh, Jitz…," Frita half whispered, squeezing her husband's hand tightly.

Well, that would be if what the nurses at the hospital had told them was wrong. The entire pregnancy made Frita feel selfish in a way, as if she had been trying to replace Jitz so shortly after he had left for the Capitol. Her son no doubt would have grumbled something about it; the lonely mother wished so much that he would do exactly that.

But Lenny, Lenny's pain that he felt for his son's death was quite different. Lenny hated that he hadn't been able to do anything, that he hadn't properly said goodbye to Jitz while he could have. For as long as Lenny could remember, he had just been going along with whatever his wife at said, not putting up a single argument at just about each and everything that she said. If he had been more assertive, more aggressive, willing to stand up to people, then he could have told them that Jitz was only eleven when Jitz was twelve. He could have taken that risk to give him another chance, to give him one less slip of paper in that awful Reaping. Yet now, now it was all too late…Each of the mourning parents in the Lowe home would never have the opportunity to see their son come home to him. If they ever did, it would only be when the life was crushed out of their own bodies.

For Jitz's spirit now resided in the great beyond, but neither of the parents could find anything to be happy about…

**District Four: Riddle Family**

In the Riddle home of District Four, shock is the biggest motion, even more than the sorrow for the fate of Nicolas. They sit close to each other, holding hands and trying not to fall to pieces after the grave event that they had watched happen. Nicolas' mother, Anne-Marie, hadn't said a word since they turned on the television set to check up on her son after dinner. No one had been able to speak anything, their silence being enough to speak their thoughts on what had happened today. But out of all of them, it must have affected Nept Riddle the most, as he'd been able to survive his Hunger Games, yet his son had not been able to.

As Nicolas' father, Nept had believed that his son would be able to easily dominate in the arena. Each step of the way, the Victor had been there, encouraging and helping Nicolas on his path to becoming the next Quarter Quell winner. If there had been a day that Nicolas slacked off in training, then Nept would be the one to discipline him, to tell him that he could have gone on longer and progressed farther than he had ever dreamed of. Nept couldn't help but blame himself for his son's death; it's the worst feeling that a parent could have ever experienced. If he had made Nicolas train ever harder than he did, would his son still be with him? Or if he had never even started training him for the Hunger Games, would his pride and joy still be alive? Those questions would plague him for the rest of Nept's life, and also encourage him to push his only living child, Sapphire, even farther than he ever had before. It would be the only way that she would be able to come home safely to him; Nept didn't want to go through the pain of losing a child again. When the time came for Sapphire to talk of Volunteering on a Reaping Day, the saddened Victor decided that she must be eighteen years of age, leaving her four more years of intensive training.

Sapphire, on the other hand, still couldn't quite believe what was happening. Her headphones lay abandoned on the floor, Kerli's music playing softly out of them, not loud enough for anyone to be able to hear it. Most of the time, the daughter and now only child of Nept and Anne-Marie had seemed to be addicted to the music. But now, with the loss of her brother, and possibly her best friend in the world, the songs didn't matter to the ginger haired girl anymore. At fourteen years of age, she'd been confident that her brother would win the Hunger Games, and then help her prepare for her own time in the arena. All of the Riddle children would have been Victors, to bring more glory to their family name, and honor to District Four. But now, it could not be so…Nicolas Riddle had just died, on the second day as well, something that rarely ever did happen to the Careers. Only Sapphire remained, but that didn't discourage the girl, no, it only made her more determined to enter the Hunger Games. Resolving to train harder than ever, and obliterate the Tributes from District Six, Sapphire had already chosen to Volunteer for the next Hunger Games, unbeknownst to her father.

**District Six: Lisette Family**

Casca would have been sitting in an empty house, had he not invited the Eberharts to come and live with him. As an old man, he knew that he wouldn't have much time for living, especially since he could barely even run the shop. The loss of his son had hit him hard, yet not as hard as it could have, for he saw something all right about it. Despite what that Tetra girl had done to Cassius, the actual death had been painless, a clean shot with an arrow; you couldn't get something that hurt less than that in Casca's mind. Yes, it had been horrible what had happened to his son, but he knew that Cassius would be in a better place right now.

He had already lost one son, August, to the Hunger Games. Along with his wife and mother to his children, Estelle, in a dreaded train accident. Each of them had made their way to the great beyond, and soon enough, Cassius had joined them as well. Eventually, Mr. Lisette knew that he would finally be reunited with his family, another reason as to why he had taken the Eberharts in. Maya, Marco, and Cat had their names in the Reaping bowl far too many times for Casca to feel comfortable not doing something to help them. It had also helped when he had lost Cassius; Cat, unusually not frightened, had curled up in Casca's lap like a little kitten.

"I'm s-sorry…," Cat had said, "Mr. Lisette, Cassius is h-happy now…H-He's ou-out of the Hunger G-Games…."

Such kind people, Casca reflected, even though tears over his son's death were beginning to pool. They felt as if they had became family to him, even if the Eberharts had only been living in his humble home for a little over a week. Yet though they didn't feel as if they were his children, Mr. and Mrs. Eberhart had become like siblings to him, something that Casca missed desperately after the death of his own brother. While Cat and Marco were practically niece and nephew to the lonely old man; he would do anything for them now. But even with all of this positive, the seed of sorrow grew hold in Mr. Lisette's mind until shaky sobs fell quickly out of his eyes.

"Don't cry!" Cat cautioned, sounding alarmed, crawling back into Casca's lap and hugging him tightly, "It's g-g-going to be okay!"

Casca merely nodded, feeling himself slipping back into that deep depression that had befallen him when August died. He couldn't help but question the world, wondering why it had to be so cruel to him. Had it not taken enough from the poor old man? First August, then Estelle, and now Cassius too…Right now, Mr. Lisette had a hard time seeing how he could possibly go on, but then he remember the Eberharts. Their daughter remained in that horrid arena, even taking out that boy from District Four with one of her deadly traps. Really, they were akin to each other, even if Maya is still living through that torture.

But even though he had reasons to not grieve, Mr. Lisette couldn't help but do so for the duration of the night. And the entire time, Cat stayed by his side, whispering the most reassuring words that she could muster up. Marco, on the other hand, went down inside of the shop, working on the projects that Cassius had abandoned, not paying any attention to the automatic button that could do the work for him. In his mind, it was the very least he could do for poor Mr. Lisette…

**District Eight: Mercer Family**

Trina lies on the couch, not even bothering to attempt her AP Calculus homework at a time like this. Sobs are drifting in from the master bedroom, in which her mother is crying out in agony for Abe, who died before the Hunger Games had even begun. The high school aged girl might have been joining her, had the tears stopped coming hours ago, after her father had left to go get some liquor. Evidently, Mr. Mercer had decided to drink away his problems, leaving Trina and Mrs. Mercer all alone at the house to wallow in their sorrow. Other people may have frowned upon them, but it was not like Mr. Mercer abused his family on a daily basis; in fact, he's quite the gentleman. However, that didn't mean that he should have just left the house like that, or at least that had been Trina's opinion.

The minute that they had seen Abe's knee give out, sending him flying off of the platform, none of them could very well believe it. Being the sister of the Tribute, she had been dreading the family interviews, but that didn't mean that she didn't want Abe to make it to the final eight. No, Trina loved her brother desperately; so much that Trina would have gone in Abe's place if she could. But it wouldn't be so, as a girl couldn't take the spot of a boy in the Hunger Games. It had made her nearly inconsolable, even more so after no one had been available to comfort her. As a nerd, Trina had been expected to study constantly, but even the math textbook lay abandoned on the floor, its pages surely becoming bent or torn.

Mr. Mercer did spend his night drinking away his sorrows, becoming incoherent and arrogant from the addicting liquids. Never once did it cross his mind that he should have been at home with his family, that he shouldn't be wasting his month's wages for working at the factory on tequila. People in the bar recognize him, even offering to buy him a shot or two, but his thought processes aren't working as they should be. So much grief had filled him upon losing his son, topping the amount that he had felt when Abe had been Reaped for the Hunger Games. And in Mr. Mercer's opinion, there couldn't have been a worse person for Abe to go into the Hunger Games with. No doubt that Willa Hellmans sabotaged him in some way, probably jeering spitefully at the poor boy, adding to the reasons that Abe had fallen off of his platform. That girl had a reputation of being a wild child, a rebel, and a slut; Mr. Mercer didn't want anything to do with the girl. Clearly, Mr. and Mrs. Hellmans didn't either, as they had kicked Willa out of their house not all too long ago.

Downing another shot, Mr. Mercer didn't stop to think about how his new coping method would do more harm than good…

**District Nine: Tremaine Family**

The death of Cedar affected the Tremaine family, but it didn't hit them as hard as it could have. Most of the girl's time had been spent out with her friends, practically ignoring her own family, with the exception of Corvus. Yet that didn't mean that no tears were shed in the house of the Tremaine family; no, they mourned the death of one of their own deeply. A couple of Cedar's friends had also come over to join them; the Tremaines didn't mind, as the two other girls were practically family to them anyways. Clothe Jones and Macy Summets were their names, simple and ordinary enough for the textile District, but neither of them quite fit the norm.

Clothe Jones, the proclaimed best friend of the late Cedar Tremaine, dressed a bit oddly. The ginger haired girl lived with her sister's best friend, Thyme, after her sister had died from a riot. Peacekeepers hadn't been able to sort the guilty from the innocent, and so they ended up killing each person that had been present that day; Clothe became an orphan. Wearing a tweed jacket, partnered with a brilliant red bow tie, people often teased the feisty little girl. However, the orphan and Cedar had gotten along rather well, becoming two peas in a pod almost instantly. As for the other friend of Cedar, Macy Summets, she couldn't have been more different from Clothe. Rich and beautiful, Macy's cousin worked as a stylist for the Hunger Games, designing the outfits for Clark Hallen during the interviews. Macy's long flowing blonde hair made her look pixie like, but being sweet and kind, she'd taken Cedar under her wing.

Now, both Clothe and Macy sat morosely in the living room, hardly believing that their best friend had been killed in the Bloodbath. Corvus hadn't been able to muster the courage to point out that Cedar could have lived had it not been for Tetra Comn, that crazy girl from District Eleven. Occasionally, one of the five people in the room would open their mouths to speak, but they paused, not daring to interrupt the silence. For Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine had lost a daughter, Corvus a sister, Clothe and Macy had lost a true friend; there wasn't any words they could think of to comfort each other. If this had been some cruel dream, then the Tremaines would have resolved to make sure Cedar spent more time with them, instead of off with her best friends. But the silent ticking of the grandfather clock told them otherwise, along with the recap of Cedar's fate playing cruelly across the tiny television screen.

This world is cruel, but none of them had expected this to happen so soon, so fast…All they could do is hope that Cedar was in a better place, somewhere where she was not scared of her own shadow, but happy and carefree. Eventually, Thyme came by to pick up Clothe, with Macy resolving to spend the night at the Tremaine home. From Macy's perspective, Corvus would need more than just his parents to make it through the rough first night.

**District Nine: The Orphanage**

Tonight, at the District Nine Orphanage, no one is playing with the dinosaur toys. All of the children who understood what was going on remained silent, except for the ever clueless Emyrus Lapworth. Running amuck as usual, Miss Sandes sighed at her seat on the desk. On the forms that Ebon had gotten his hand on, he'd listed Emyrus Lapworth as a living family, with Emyrus doing the same thing on his own form. According to Capitol law, she'd be required to try and explain to the deranged little boy exactly what was happening, well, exactly what had happened. Miss Sandes let out another sigh, wishing that she could have given the task to another one of the social workers, but they were all busy consoling the rest of the children in the orphanage; all of them missed Ebon a lot now.

"Emy…," Miss Sandes calls out, catching the attention of the dark haired boy, "Could you come here for a moment?"

Emyrus glances quickly over at her, wondering what's up with Miss Sandes. She never does pay much attention to him, usually mulling over the paperwork instead of talking to the children in the orphanage. But whenever the Hunger Games rolls around, the owner of the overcrowded orphanage always feels a bit overwhelmed. If one of the children is Reaped, all of them will start bawling their eyes out, something that always tends to get on her nerves. At this point in their lives, all of the orphans should have been used to death, accepting it as something natural that happens to everyone, but that had never been the case. Now that they had watched Ebon Furial killed by that District One Tribute, Cashmere, none of them would be able to sleep for about a week. Naturally, that meant that Miss Sandes wouldn't be getting a wink either.

"Yes Miss Sandes?" Emyrus asks curiously, playing with a little toy train.

"Do you know what happened to Ebon, sweetie?" Miss Sandes asked, hoping that her job wouldn't be all too difficult this time.

Of course, the twelve year old boy from District Nine had remained just as clueless as his friend Ebon. Missing the part where Ebon had gone into the arena, dying that gruesome death by Cashmere Combe, all he thought of it was a really fun game. People were dying to get chosen for it, signing up for free stuff and entering their names into this awesome raffle. After they were chosen, they were whisked off to the spectacular Capitol, where everyone loved them and wanted to be their friends. In fact, Emyrus had been positive that Ebon's playing with dinosaurs right now, while chatting away with Clark Hallen about all his favorite things to do back in District Nine. All Emyrus had really seen was the part where Ebon got to ride a pony; he became intensely jealous after that even occurred. Telling Miss Sandes this only darkened the mood of the older woman; she knew that there wasn't going to be an easy way to tell Emyrus this, but she had to do it.

"Ebon isn't coming back," Miss Sandes informed Emyrus coldly, "He lost the Hunger Games."

**District Ten: Lessing Family**

Mrs. Lessing is covered up by an assortment of blankets as usual, the only way that the Lessings could try and ward off her illness. But now with the death of Ether, her condition had weakened even more that people could have ever believed. The doctors had told the Lessing family that Mrs. Lessing had less than a year left to live, much to the grief of Halo and Medea. They had already lost their brother, and now, now they had been told that they would be losing their mother soon enough as well. That kind of heartbreak would change people, it could cause them to become sick and twisted, but that hadn't befallen the Lessing family. Instead, Mr. Lessing took up another job, working as hard as he could and contributing to the small fund to sponsor Wednesday Vespers in the Hunger Games. His theory was that if District Ten managed to bring home another Victor, then his wife may find some will to live again, or at least make medical aid for her at a cheaper price. It helped him push away feelings of grief for Ether, though Mr. Lessing suffered from sleepless nights ever since the Bloodbath toll had been revealed.

Meanwhile, Halo and Medea were growing up far too quickly. Twin sisters had ceased in eating after Ether had been Reaped, convinced that they could use the extra money to help sponsor their brother, that way he could come home to them. As a result of their fasting, the once chubby six year olds had been losing weight rapidly, looking skinny to the eye. The last time that Halo and Medea had eaten was over a week ago, making their teachers at school more and more nervous; there already was no shortage of starving children in Panem, so they hoped that Halo and Medea were not added to the list. More so, neither of them had been bathing, also trying to conserve water in the hopes that they might have been able to sell it. Now, all of their hard earned money, probably enough to send in a couple of crackers, had been donated to help bring back Wednesday Vespers. In their heads, Wednesday and Ether had been best friends; if she came home, they would feel bitter, yes, but they figured that Ether would have liked a District Ten Victor anyways.

"Daddy?" Halo had asked shakily, directly after Ether had died, "Wh-Where's Ether? Is…Is he not c-c-coming back?"

Mr. Lessing hadn't had the heart to look his daughter in the eyes, but he couldn't lie to her either. Really, there wasn't a right answer for the question that Halo had asked; it became more pressing as Medea looked towards him expectantly as well. He pondered over wherever to tell them the truth or not. If he did, then they would be able to properly mourn their brother. But if he lied to Halo and Medea, they would be able to not have their innocence crushed out of them, even if they'd feel betrayal upon finding out the truth. It was quite the conundrum, but in the end Mr. Lessing made his choice; all he could do was hope that he was right.

"No, pumpkin…He's g-gone…"

**District Twelve: Nightlock Family**

Deep in the Seam, located on the outskirts of District Twelve, resides the broken Nightlock family. Their television set remains running, playing through the death of Rocky one last time; it nearly breaks their hearts to be forced to watch. Jackson Leo Ross drives the sword through her one last time, covering the hilt in her blood, and jerks it out as if he doesn't even care what he's done. As if he doesn't even care that they family has become a little more shattered, that Lisa will never forgive herself for the way she had been treating her only cousin. Deep down, Lisa Nightlock knew that she loved Rocky, but that she hadn't ever told her that. And now, there wouldn't ever be a chance for, leaving Rocky to die, possibly thinking that she hadn't been wanted back in District Twelve.

"Now what do we do?" Mrs. Nightlock, Rocky's aunt, whispers.

Mr. Nightlock, Rocky's uncle just simply stares ahead at the television screen. His niece's death is no longer being shown on it, but it keeps repeating endlessly in his mind. After Rocky's parents had died, it had been his responsibility to make sure that Rocky would be cared for and loved. Sure, he had allowed her to hunt, but only because they would have died from starvation had Rocky not headed out into the woods, armed with her hunting knife. The very same knife that sits at Rocky's place at the table, dull from skinning countless squirrels and rabbits, awaiting for her to return home to sharpen it. While at first, Mr. Nightlock had been going to do it, it felt wrong and disrespectful for him to do so. An odd feeling this was, he admitted, but it felt like the least he could do for his beloved niece.

"I don't know, love…," Mr. Nightlock replies, "I suppose we keep on living, like Rocky would have wanted us to do…"

Lisa, however, can't help but think the thoughts no one dared to speak aloud. People died in the Hunger Games each year, but rarely did anyone ever do anything about it. In her opinion, someone needed to lead a rebellion, to avenge all of the children that had died over the years. Panem could not keep on waiting for the next Katniss Everdeen; they had to be willing to save themselves, instead of playing the repetitive 'maiden in distress' role for another couple centuries. If the Victor of this Hunger Games would not be willing to do so, then Lisa Nightlock decided that she would start the Third Rebellion herself. And this time, it would be successful…

The Capitol couldn't rule over the Districts forever; everything had to end sometime…

**District Twelve: The Orphanage**

Back in the orphanage of District Twelve, a bed remained permanently vacant. Belonging to Josh Quick, everyone knew his name, his face, but they never did really care about him. No one had befriended him, so no one had cried when they watched him die in the Bloodbath. Sure, Reina Vane wasn't their absolute favorite Tribute anymore, yet they had really only been cheering for Rocky Nightlock. That girl had been well known in the District, so when she had died on the second day of the Hunger Games, any grief that people had been feeling for Josh had transferred to her.

If you don't really know someone, then it is hard to feel sorry for them. After all, we're all stories waiting to be read, and in this case, no one had given poor Josh Quick a second thought…Though no one dared move into his bed, even if the place is overcrowded, with several people sleeping on the floor; they didn't feel that it would have been right. Deep down, they all knew that they should have paid more attention to the boy; they couldn't even remember how he had become an orphan. Only one comfort had been allotted to them; at least Josh Quick could be with his parents now…

The television flickers on briefly, one of the young children in the orphanage gazing intently at the screen. A big word, flashing in red letters, appears but they aren't nearly old enough to figure out what it means. Writing it down, in all capital letters like the older children had taught him to, he doesn't even realize the importance of what he had just witnessed.

Someone had tried to murder Datura Gremlin; and that someone was the Master…

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

Fialla Howards:

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

Juniper Griffin:

Axel Treefall:

Willa Hellmans:

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:


	31. Shocked

**And the poll results are in! **

**Adia Loya with 4 votes**

**Fialla Howards and Juniper Griffin with 2 votes**

**Cashmere Combe, Malaya Finaca, Reina Vane, and Willa Hellmans with 1 vote**

**Leah Dagger, Maya Eberhart, Cedar Tremaine, Wednesday Vespers, Tetra Comn, and Rocky Nightlock with no votes**

**You guys would date Willa…? Sorry, that just surprised me…I'd be freaking out on wherever she would stab me or not…**

_Malaya Finaca (15), District Three Female-POV_

Hunger wakes me up early on the third day, at exactly three o'clock in the morning, according to the tiny little watch a sponsor had sent in. Well, really it had been a backpack, around medium size, that had a couple little trinkets inside of it. A small watch, a package full of tiny bandages, and a thermometer had been the only things inside of it; they were useful, but not extremely so. Currently, it rested inside of my black sleeping bag, which I had cocooned myself inside of, the arnis sticks kept close to myself in case someone tried to attack me. No one had sent in any food for me, and this arena was very good at making only one source evident: the Cornucopia.

I stood up slowly, not wishing to leave the warm softness of the sleeping bag, but knew that it would be best if I was on the move before the over Tributes. The other day, I'd been able to nick away a couple pieces of meat from Persei Baxwoll, the boy from Eleven, who had been sleeping in late. Maybe there'll be another Tribute wandering around, or preferably snoozing, that I'd be able to apprehend some breakfast from. Rolling up the black bag, which clips together tightly from secure straps, it barely manages to fit inside of my backpack, a dull blue color, made out of a waterproof and sturdy material. Two notes had been given to me with them, each one better than the last.

_You'll need these. They're coming. Don't lose sight of glory. You are better than all of them. –Spark_

_Beauty is just a word. It doesn't matter. Fight for what you want, Malaya. –Gramps_

Even if Spark, which I think meant Sparks Sonica, was my Mentor, I really had two Mentors at this point in the Hunger Games. All of the hopes for District Three resided on my shoulders; naturally, Gramps and Sparks were all too willing to make sure that I had everything I needed. But I guess that didn't apply to food, leaving me to steal off of the Tributes whenever I could, otherwise suffering from a near blinding headache. On the second day, the mistake of not drinking any water had nearly been my downfall; luckily, I'd found a tiny little creek miles away from the Cornucopia. Without any iodine drops, this morning could have very well been my death, as past Gamemakers would poison the water supply for fun. But being desperate meant drinking it, even if it's not completely safe, and from stretching out my muscles briefly, I think I can say that it's completely safe.

Shouldering the dull blue bag, I begin to retrace my steps towards that little creek. Soon enough, I'd make sure to try and find my way back to the Cornucopia, or at least raid another Tribute's supplies; there was no way that I'm going to be hanging around this creek forever. Just like the day before, it trickles slowly, the water barely an inch above the dirt ground. I bend down, not caring if I get my hair dirty, as I'm already ugly, and cup my hands the most effective way possible. Upon lowering them into the water, the distant sound of footsteps reaches my ears, but I'm positive that I'll be completely prepared. Gulping down the water, not caring if I show be drinking slower, the coolness feels well in my slightly rasp throat- I haven't dared to speak in days.

"Had enough to drink, yet?" a male voice asks, but I turn around slowly, pretending to be terrified and frightened.

Dark hair, stormy eyes, and tall are the first things that I take in about the boy. Strapped to him are twin daggers, and though they are sheathed, a slight curve in the blade tells me that they're all too deadly. Trying to pin a name to the face, it doesn't quite come to me instantly, but then I remember that he's the boy from District Thirteen. The one with the 'no last name' substitute; I'm standing face to face with Jet Newton, the mysterious one with the unpredictably low training score. Still, my initial strategy, believing that this would be a Career, doesn't seem necessary in this case; I'm positive that I can take him. My face becomes cool and emotionless, my arnis sticks both being transferred from being held in my armpits to my hands.

"Oh, no," I reply casually, "But as I found the creek first, then I believe I can have as much as I want to drink."

Jet raises his eyebrows only slightly, his face otherwise devoid of emotion. I suppose that we may be considered similar in that way, with the exception that I have a better reason to prove myself, while Jet probably just wants to see his family again. My heart briefly softens at that, but upon reminding me to be as strong as a Career, in fact, to be stronger, it quickly vanishes into the mist. Only one of us can survive the Hunger Games anyways, so mercy in here is quite pointless. My soon to be opponent recognizes that as well, pulling out his daggers soundless; he must have been training with them during our time at the Capitol a lot.

"Ever here of this thing called sharing?" Jet comments, stepping his right foot backwards, lowering down into what I immediately recognize as his fighting stance.

Shrugging, I say, "Only one person is going to live anyways, Jet. So there really isn't much point to it…"

"I completely agree," Jet states coolly, "It's been nice knowing you, Malaya."

I frown, braced and ready to fight him off, when Jet sprints off into the darkness. Nothing makes sense about it, as he's been acting ready to fight, and then suddenly takes off like something is going to kill him. Well, I was about to kill him, but from the way he'd been talking, Jet's been ready to run off for a while now. Turning my gaze towards the way he came, the subtle sound of footsteps grows louder and louder, sound like something slapping down heavily against the rocky ground. My heartbeat accelerates, my thoughts telling me that it's a cruel trick done by Jet, but I can't be all too sure about that. If only I had been looking towards him when the District Thirteen Tribute appeared, then I could have been able to tell if he ran this way or strolled casually. A sinking feeling in my gut told me that he had been running, though I tried not to believe it, instead asserting a tighter grip on my arnis sticks.

A huge shadow is the first thing I see, the terrifying mutation stepping forward almost a minute later. Huge horns jut out of it, bristly fur covering each and every inch of the gigantic beast. Beady green eyes sit high up in its head, giving off an alien like glow; this is definitely not something that you'd normally find in Panem. The upper body of it reminds me of some of the Career Victors, as it is bursting with muscle, the hairs void on the chest. Sickly, it reminded me of a creature from the storybooks in Gramp's house; the Minotaur kept in the Labyrinth according to Greek Legend. And if that was true, then I was as good as dead; Jet Newton must have been chased by it, delighted to find myself to transfer its attention to.

"Hey there, big guy," I mutter, hoping that it'll be distracted by human speech.

Clearly, the Minotaur is not, roaring loudly and charging towards myself. Quickly jumping to the side, like some kid had done in a related novel, it proves to be more advanced than the beast of Greek Legend had been. Turning it's snout towards me, it slashes at me with its humanoid hands, barely missing my head as I duck down to the ground. It bared its teeth at me, roaring in rage again before charging towards my person once again. Being on the ground in a crouch hadn't been the exactly best position to be in, so I couldn't help but analyze the Minotaur, trying to look for some sort of weakness in it. The Capitol wouldn't send in something impossible for the Tributes to beat; they prefer to have a show, and if I manage to escape, they'll be getting a terrific one for sure.

Green eyes are the only feature that sticks out to me, mainly because they're staring at me furiously. Still in my crouch, I duck in between the creature's legs, leaving it to rage and turn around to face me. By the time that its bull head is staring me, I've swung my arnis stick upwards, hitting it against the head with a satisfying _crack! _The Minotaur is only fazed for a moment though, screaming in my face, sounding more like a lion than a bull human mutation thingy-mo-bob. If it works once, there wasn't anything to say that it wouldn't work again, so I swung both of the sticks, hitting the hideous creature on each side of the head at the exact same time. It bellows in rage again, but by the time it shakes its head, raring to go again, I've started to calculate my escape plan.

"Hey, ugly!" I chant, hating myself slightly for using that of all words, "Catch me if you can!"

Taking off running into the maze, darting side to side to try and confuse it, I can only hope that Jet isn't all too far ahead from me. If he's still close by, then all I have to do is pull the same trick he did with me, and then this mutation will become Jet's problem once again. While the ground beneath my feet is the same for the Minotaur, it isn't hard to hear him coming. Quiet and soft are my footsteps, the just right way to sneak up on a Tribute, hadn't it been for the barging monster in full pursuit. Like when it at first met me in this arena, the Minotaur's steps are heavy and hard, sounding like a thousand Griffin Holloways are chasing me all at once.

A metal door comes into my line of sight, the doorknob shinning as a beacon of hope. Had Jet gone this way? According to my quickening heart, he probably did, as it would be the best chance of survival from the Minotaur. I try to run as fast as I can, reaching it, but there's only a distance of three feet between the monster and I now. Yanking on the doorknob, it turns easily, but I immediately let go of it. Searing pain goes through me, taking away my chance to breath, as the Minotaur begins a viscous physical assault, ramming me with its horns over and over again. Darkness impedes my vision, yet I make myself keep going, forcing my hand onto the knob again. All of my strength is used on standing up, hoping that the Minotaur will continue to miss critical spots on my body. Thinking of my grandparents and Gramps, a shriek is let loose from my body, the door swinging abruptly open.

Leaping inside of the next tunnel, it takes more strength that I have to close the door, but I somehow manage to do so. I'm about to jam one of my precious arnis sticks in the door, to make sure that no one will ever be able to use it again, but the heavy footsteps signal that the Minotaur is retreating safely away. It must have been a stroke of luck, as I collapse to the ground, still leaning against the door, feeling ten times more exhausted than I have ever been in my life. As such, my head is swimming, but I force myself to stay awake; if I close my eyes, I may never open them again. Dimly, I can hear a cannon fire off in the distance, which I think is my own for a second, but my rapidly beating pulse informs me otherwise.

"Close call…," I whisper, wishing someone would send me something for my pounding headache, or my sure to be horribly bruised back.

_Reina Vane (17), District Five Female-POV_

Sleeping curled up, the red bag serving as a little pillow; I can't quite believe that I still haven't been able to find Adia. Thinking back through my time spent in the Capitol, there hadn't been anything rebellious that I'd said, meaning that there would be no reason for them to purposefully separate us like this. And from what I can tell, tons of people had wanted to sponsor me, the small red bag now up to its complete capacity. Along with the apples and arnis sticks before, someone in the Capitol had taken the time out of their day to send me even more life sustaining items. Strips of dried meat, a bottle filled to the brim with cool and refreshing water, but that wasn't my favorite thing about the entire ensemble.

Wire, the perfect type and amount for building some simple traps, had been included as well. Of course, it would have been brilliant if I could have managed to grab a knife as well, but fate hadn't been on my side that way. Opening my eye up to the dull light the arena is bathed in, the blinking yellow bulbs, along with my wire, start to give me a brilliant idea. Somewhere, they're getting electricity, and somehow, it's being coursed throughout the arena. Straightening up from my position in the ground, tucked in between too large stalagmites, I'm almost positive that I would be able to find a way to tap into that energy flow. Using the wire that I'd been sponsored, maybe I could rig up a door to zap anyone who tried to come by.

Half smiling to myself, I unzip the tiny red bag, intent on finding some breakfast before starting in my task. A dull green color, one of my ten apples is the first thing that I grab; it should be able to fill up my stomach for now, even if it lacks the protein that my dried meat gives. It numbered precious few, only about five pieces remaining out of the original seven strips, so I'd have to ration it out carefully for the duration of the Hunger Games. Yet with the loss of two Careers yesterday, a little surging bubble of confidence spikes within me, leaving me to believe, for just one tiny little second, that I might be capable of winning. It soon quiets down, remembering how the hardest of the Careers- Griffin, Jackson, and Leah- still remained on the prowl, hunting down Tributes left and right.

"Morning District Five…," I mumble, possibly the first words that I had spoken in the arena.

The apple creates a long crunching noise when I bite into it, something that I didn't particularly like about the fruit; it's far too noisy to be safe in the arena. Still, none of the other Tributes had managed to find me yet, so I must assume that it's completely safe, that it's not going to be a danger towards myself if I continue to eat the juicy fruit. A clear liquid that came from consuming it drips down my chin, adding to the dirt and slightly tears in the outfit the Capitol had provided us for the Hunger Games. Once again, I didn't really care about it anymore; it wasn't my clothes, nor was it my problem. Disturbingly, I'd had trouble finding things to care about, other than living or finding Adia, since I had beat that-no, murdered- that boy from District Twelve. His name I think had been Josh; a feeling of self hatred washes over me, as I don't even know for sure the name of my skittish little victim.

Using my sleeve to wipe off the remaining juices from my snack, throwing the stem and seeds back into my bag, so no one can no I'm here, I start planning out on how I'm going to do this exactly. Those yellow colored lights are about ten feet up there, surrounded by the deadly looking stalactites. How in the world am I supposed to get up there? I'm not strong, I'm not quick, I'm…No, Reina, stop it. Just take a deep breath, clear your mind, and apply all of the tricks you picked up in District Five to this. Obeying my own instructions, a smile forms on my face, as I realized something that I had previously overlooked. See, just because the lights are up there, it doesn't mean that the wires are all going to be up high, which means there's a good chance that a couple of the precious strands are quite accessible to me. Laying my backpack on the floor, my wire held tightly in my pale hands, I hope that I paid well enough attention in school to not screw up with this task.

"Now," I murmured, the same way I would in school when solving a challenging problem, "The next light is to the left of it, meaning that it's going to take…," running my hand along the wall, I wish I had better means of detecting it, "This wall…"

Briefly, I look up towards the rocky ceiling, hoping that another mystical sponsor gift would be coming down. But this time, a white parachute didn't sail down to be added to my collection, leaving me to only have guesswork in attempting to find a live wire. And if I did find it, that didn't guarantee that I'd be safe; in fact, I'd probably end up offing myself in the process of doing it…

Why couldn't I do anything right? Grumbling under my breath didn't help either, but at least it gave me a way to vent out my anger. Eventually, my temper cools down long enough to let me release a sigh; I knew that this wire idea may very well save my life in the arena. I ran my fingertips along the wall one last time, just to double check that the tiny cord, buzzing with electricity, would lay beneath it. Using my fingernail to dig in a little marker, I turn around and fetch the arnis sticks from the tiny red bag; they're the only tool of mine I can use to try and dig it up.

Ironically, it's only now that I actually pay attention to their appearance. Though they're sturdy and strong, great for fighting with, they look like they're made out of bamboo. Tiny little patterns, looking like falling leaves, are etched in brown on each thin stick, adding to their beauty. Taking one to the wall, it soon becomes evident that they aren't the best thing for digging up a live wire. These twelve inch long sticks have no point to them, just scraping up meager amounts of dirt over time; time that I know I don't have. Still, this doesn't stop me in my task, not until I feel something brush my shoulder.

"Get away from me!" I shriek, swinging the arnis stick in a clear arc, intent on harming whoever my attacked was.

A little white parachute rests on the ground, crumpled up, with the white strings severed from it, clinging onto my own arnis sticks. Blinking back my surprise, the arnis sticks are tossed back into the little red bag, as I reach desperately towards the tiny parachute. From nerve wracking tension, wondering if a Tribute had been nearby when I shrieked like that, my fingers are fumbling, unable to open it up on the first couple of times. Gritting my teeth, I make myself slow down, take a couple of deep breaths, count to ten, and do all the stuff school consolers said to do when you're angry. In my case, it's more frustrated, but I found that the coping methods worked well enough. After a bit of deep breathing, my fumbling fingers were finally able to find the little latch, yanking it open to reveal something I needed desperately.

"Thank you," I mouthed, picking up the intricate little knife, perfect for digging up part of the wall to find those wires.

A tiny piece of white paper flutters to the floor, which I quickly snatch up. _Fantastic idea! Rig left door-Alecto. _Shoving the piece of paper in my pocket, this must have been confirming that I'm correct in my hopes, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't frighten me. There's only one reason that Alecto would have sent in a note to rig the left door; there must be a Tribute lurking around nearby. It's different to set up a trap and wander off, but if I intentionally try to kill someone, it feels more akin to murder. But this is the Hunger Games, ethics aren't supposed to matter here; it's supposed to be all about survival. If the death of that person meant my survival, would I be willing to do it? Biting down on the inside of my cheek, it feels worn from the habit I'd picked up in the arena of doing that.

"They'd do it to you if they could, Reina," I whisper to myself, trying to think like Alecto would, like a Victor of the Hunger Games would.

Once again, I grab the hilt of the knife, walking towards the section of the wall with the small indention from my finger print. Unlike the arnis sticks, the blade makes it quite easy to trip off the hardly packed dirt and rock covering up the electric wire. Some dirt is getting onto my face, but I don't care, as my hammering heart keeps thinking about the possible Tribute nearby. By the time the tiny red wire is visible, I almost keep on digging towards it, stopping the knife right before it touches it. Step one, accomplished; a smile grows on my face again. Now, all I need to do is safely connect my wire to this one. That means I'll have to find some way to turn off the power running through it; the only thing I can think of it throwing my knife up at the lights. Gritting my teeth, it feels like another five minutes before I finally glance down at the white parachute; unlike other ones, it's material feels like rubber.

Rubber….Rubber….Rubber doesn't conduct electricity! I'm a genius! Well, I know I'm not, so this must have been some stroke of luck that I managed to think of it. Pushing the parachute onto my hand, like one would wear a glove, I hesitantly touch the live wire, jumping backwards in case I'm shocked. Looking around, then down at the parachute, there isn't any change, so it must have really been rubber. I grin to myself before going back to work, attaching my wire to the Capitol's wire, careful not to let any of it touch anything but the parachute glove. Eventually, my own wire is starting to buzz as well, letting me know that I successfully converted the power; no doubt District Five is actually proud of me.

Running the new wire along to the door, which is thankfully completely metal, I attach it to that as well. It's now completely live, meaning certain doom for anyone who touches it, unless they're me with the rubber parachute. This brilliant new feeling is swelling up inside of me, something that I don't think that I've ever felt before. Happiness, relief, and something else are all combined, making this foreign new feeling…What's it called? Pride? No…It starts with a c… C…. C…. C… Con… Confide…. Conning…Confidence! That's it! I've gained confidence, and I must say, I think I'm starting to like the new me.

Just a couple moments after I've walked away from the door, the brass door handle turns a smidgen, but it soon stops moving. A cannon fires, letting me know that my trap is successful…Too bad I won't know who it was until tonight; fear briefly flickers through me, wondering if that could have been Adia, my only ally in the arena.

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

Fialla Howards:

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

Juniper Griffin:

Axel Treefall:

Willa Hellmans:

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**To clarify, only one Tribute died in this chapter. While I already know who it was (they were a favorite of mine, so I'm going to cry now) I'll be revealing who it was in the next chapter. I'm having fun with these different poll types, and though they've only be up for about twenty four hours at a time, most of the people who would vote have. The newest one is "Who is your favorite pairing in the 175****th**** Hunger Games?" I'll try my best to put them all up, but if I forgot one, message me and I'll add it to the list. **


	32. A Wilting Rose

**So, first I'd like to say Happy Birthday Hunter! HunterSkull157 is my little brother; he isn't eligible for the Reaping yet, I let him take over as Gamemaker for a bit, and select the second and third person to die on Day Three of the 175****th**** Hunger Games! Everyone say Happy Birthday to him in your review! This chapter is Hunter's birthday present! Also, I'm not writing out the birth scene, as I will hurl all over my laptop (believe it or not, I'm a very squeamish person).**

_Persei Baxwoll (14), District Eleven Male-POV_

The sound of a cannon wakes me up this morning, startling out of my dreams. Grasping the tiny bag of meat, I can't help but be paranoid, that the Careers are on the prowl again. Though I suppose that I have a tiny advantage over the other Tributes, even my own District Partner, who looked weird for someone coming from District Eleven. I hated to say it, but because I have darker skin than the others, this arena is easier for me to hide in; their pale faces stick out like a sore thumb. But as I'd discovered around noon today, when my stomach began to grumble painfully for sustenance, the other Tributes were still just as sneaky. My supply of dried meat is now running dangerously low, leaving me worried about how long I'll be able to fare in the Hunger Games.

Not only does this arena lack in water, besides the underground lake near the Cornucopia, but it doesn't really provide food either. Last night, I'd stayed up as late as I could, trying to see if I could catch one of the bats. The result had them swarming away from me, not before biting open a neat little gash on my hand, a painful reminder of my failures. Sucking on it with my hand had barely ceased the blood flow, but I nearly barfed in the process; I hated the taste of blood as much as I hated Mockingjays. Dimly, I could hear heavy footprints, probably signaling that the Career Pack were nearby, so I pressed myself against the rocky wall, hoping that the layer of dirt I'd covered my clothes in would be enough to hide me.

A shriek pierces the air, followed by an angry roar. I gulped, knowing that whatever is close by wasn't a Career; Careers didn't sound anything like that. It must have been some horrifying mutt created by the Capitol; the Games must not have been exciting enough for them lately. And I do have to agree with them, as only one person had passed away today, only putting each of us one step closer to leaving the arena one way or another. More screams, along with some desperate pleading, echo down into my section of the tunnel. After a cannon fires, it's the only thing that I can think about, hearing that blast repeat over and over again. If it's really some mutation, then it's bound to be able to sense all of the Tributes in the arena. The thing, probably gigantic from the din I can hear it causing, knows exactly where I am.

"Blasted Mockingjays," I mutter, feeling slightly better if I blame things on the hated bird.

Scooping up the tiny pouch, which had a thin piece of string so you can hang it on your neck, sort of like a purse, I put it back on. There wouldn't be much time to run, but I'm pretty fast, or at least I'll be able to escape it before it's too late. Worryingly, a second cannon fires off; definitely not a Tribute. If I could just pretend that I was back in District Eleven, that I'd slept in before going to work at the orchards, it would have made this seem a little bit less scary. Yet now that I've been living through the Hunger Games, all I can think of is the benefits of fear; a little bit of fear has kept me alive three days longer than I'd expected. Though I'd never been known for intuition before, right now, that might be what's going to earn me some sponsors. Something that I needed desperately- my Mentor had made sure to tell me of that.

Jabber had sent down a parachute yesterday, which I had thought would come with something that I could use to survive. A slingshot to peg down the bats, some fruit leather to keep me in top form, a bottle of water so I won't have to run into any Careers, a sleeping bag so I wouldn't be freezing at night. It could have been anything, but when I saw the peculiarly small package, I couldn't help but feel a bit glum, already knowing that there wouldn't be anything useful inside of it for me.

_Running low on funds, Persei. I'm sorry. –Jabber _

That little white note had brought tears to my eyes, complete with a useless white parachute to carry around wherever I went. No one had wanted to sponsor the fourteen year old from District Eleven; they probably had emptied their wallets to help Tetra, not me. Didn't they know that she's insane? That the Peacekeepers dragged her in, fighting, to the detention center each month? They should have known that, as each person in District Eleven is all too aware of that fact, even daring each other to go and talk to Crazy Comn. Tiberius and Lianna had wanted to do that as well, another one of their daring adventures that I hadn't gone on; I'd always been the Third Wheel of our group. At that point in time, I hadn't minded it at all, but now a bitter emotion, akin to envy, rose up inside of me. The Hunger Games were already begun to change me; they were changing everyone…

Pushing those thoughts aside, as the growling noises grew louder, the stomping feet sounding as if they were coming closer and closer. A frantic heartbeat increased, prompting myself to run out of there as fast as I could. And just like the last time, I listened to it and ran back the way I had come, back towards the Cornucopia part of the arena. Hopefully, the Careers would be out hunting right now, but at least they weren't trying to kill me right now. If I had to choose between living another hour or another five minutes, then I'd probably go for the hour; that makes me greedy, I guess. Everyone I think becomes greedy when their life is in danger; it is human nature after all.

Skidding around a corner, a door stares towards me, but my thundering heart urges for me to keep going on, to keep following this tunnel. Once again, I listen to it, turning left instead of going right, the path that had led to that immaculate looking door. In fact, thinking back on it, the door almost looked a little bit too clean for the Hunger Games, but the sounds of howling tore it right out of my mind. Throwing a glance over my shoulder, a monstrous looking shadow, with giant spiked horns coming out of its head, greets me. Even more terrified than before, I run forward blindly, catching my small pouch on a stalagmite, ripping it off of my body. Though it had my only supplies in it, I don't dare go back for it. Whatever that thing is, the only fact that I know about it is that it will stop at nothing to kill me; you can't call a time out in the Hunger Games either.

I rush forward once again, feeling more hopeless than I had before, but a slight glint of metal catches my eye. Momentarily, I stop in my tracks, feeling scared to death; the beast had chased me into the Cornucopia cavern. All of the Careers are there, staring behind me with wide eyes, scrambling for their weapons. Leah then motions frantically towards someone small, who I can't make out quite yet, but it doesn't matter as I take off at a run again. The thing is going to be able to distract that alliance for sure, saving and condemning my life at the very same time; must have been a new occurrence in the Hunger Games, for a mutation that is. Accidentally, I brush against the littlest Career, whom glares at me; probably about to swing that mace of hers had the beast not roared.

The chilling sound sent tingles down my spine, ever more so when I turned around and took a good look at whatever had been chasing me. Directly out of a storybook, something that I never could have imagined stares furiously at us. Half bull and half man, this mutation must have been one of the scarier ones in the Hunger Games, especially from the fresh blood coating his snout; it belonged to the second person who had died today. The Minotaur paws at the ground, ready to charge at the Careers, the deadliest Tributes in the Hunger Games. Each of them are completely focused on the beast, ignoring my presence; must have been their survival instincts. Why bother with the scrawny boy when you have a thousand pound monster ready to crush the life out of you?

Temptingly, the Cornucopia of supplies is left undefended, appearing to be just as full with goodies as it had during the Bloodbath. None of the Careers would have noticed if stole from them, I reasoned, and Jabber himself had told me that they didn't have much money left to aid me with. Wednesday, the name of the twelve year old girl, had evidently been hired as the guard for the supplies. Judging from the mace in her possession, there's a very good reason for it as well. All in all, this could have been my only chance for survival in the Hunger Games, even if the risk of a painful death by the Minotaur sat looming over my head as well.

Griffin Holloway charged towards the Minotaur, leading the rest of the Careers into battle. At that same exact moment, my choice had been made, and I sprinted towards the bountiful golden horn. Ducking my head only slightly to go inside, more food than I had seen in a week is piled up, organized by type and quantity. An array of backpacks sit nearby them, the heaviness I detect upon picking them up letting me know that they've already been filled; a smile graces my weary face. I choose a dark colored one, thinking of how it should blend into the arena better, and slid it casually onto my back. From outside, the din of battle increases, as if to warn me that time is quickly running out.

Gulping, all I have is a minute to examine the large assortment of weapons. Just about each one of them gleam a wicked silver, sharpened and polished, waiting to go out and bring pain to someone. None of them have the rustic gleam that I'm familiar with in District Eleven, as there isn't a single slingshot in sight. But running my eyes over them again, the thing that's the most similar to it must have been the crossbow; it's my best bet for survival. As soon as I've grabbed it, the sounds of roaring are beginning to become farther in between, meaning that the Careers are somehow winning the fight. Knowing that I have to get out of here, my stolen supplies in hand, I duck back out of the Cornucopia. As I look around, the harsh eyes of Jackson Leo Ross meet mine; my theft had been noticed before it had even been completed. But the Minotaur tackles the Career to the ground, leaving only a slight bit of hope in me that his cannon will fire off soon, letting no one notice that I'd been the thief until later.

Feet going as fast as they could carry me, I rush through one of the many doors, not even bothering to pay attention to the markings on it. A dim sliver of natural light resides at the end of this new cavern, leading me to hope that it might actually be a way out of this horrid arena. Or at least, that it'll be someplace that no one else had discovered yet, leaving myself protected from the Hunger Games. As I walk forward, taking in the strange rectangular shape of it, the ground comes up to meet me, my feet slipping up on something tiny and metallic. Letting out a groan, dizziness already setting in, I blindly grasp for the object, eventually finding it after a little bit of time.

"A spearhead…," I whisper dazedly, "What's this doing here…?"

_Axel Treefall (17), District Seven Male-POV_

After what must have been twenty hours of agony for Willa, with Juniper and I waiting with bated breath, two new little ones said hello to the world. Instantly, the twins had begun crying and crying, their mother too tired to be able to attend to them. Really, it had been a miracle that Willa had even survived the labor, what with no pain medicine being available in the arena, unless you made it into the Careers by some stroke of luck. Beads of sweat continued to roll off of the gray eyed girl's forehead, sticking to her blonde hair and causing it to clump together, looking unsightly. But as this is the arena for the Hunger Games, no one tends to care about their physical appearance, much preferring to stay alive instead.

"Congratulations, Willa," Juniper says softly, handing the crying twins to the tired mother, "A baby boy and a baby girl."

The District Eight Tribute smiles softly to herself, holding the children tight to her chest. Her daughter, I think named Clare, has a tuft of red hair, along with Willa's gray eyes. An expression of terror and panic is on the young child's face, as if she already understands the horrors of the world that she's been born into. Originally, I would have claimed it impossible for baby Clare to reap that knowledge, but I also would have said the same thing about the Capitol allowing a pregnant woman into the Hunger Games. Alas, both of those may very well have been proven false this time around.

Clarence, which I'm not too sure if that's the name of her son or not, has a dazed look in his dark brown eyes. Just like his sister, he'd been born with a tuft of hair, but Clarence's matches the very shade of his own eyes. He must have looked more like his father, I concluded, feeling a slight bit of resentment towards the newborn child. That he could have a father out there somewhere, who probably loved and cared for him deeply. My father had been stolen away from me, murdered by District One, murdered by the victory of Cypress Junos; I hated each of them for it.

If District One had never existed, then they couldn't have sent one of their wine companies over here to celebrate Cypress' victory. My father wouldn't have been able to buy that booze, to take it with him to work on that day at the Griffin Paper Factory. After becoming intoxicated from it, my father had fallen into the shredder, losing his life instantly. So much turmoil had rippled through me, changing and twisting every inch of my being. I'd had to go and work at the lumber yard for the rest of my life, living through the pain of the loss of my father. District One had taken him from me, cruelly and quietly, sweeping their entire involvement of the fact under the rug.

Forest Treefall had been Reaped for the Hunger Games too, I reflected sadly, gazing down at the vulnerable babies before us. Each of us had been wearing the same exact outfit when we'd been called to our fate, but Forest hadn't been able to join Cypress as a Mentor for the Hunger Games. Agony rippled through me, my yearning for someone to love, someone to care for, being brought to the front of my state of mind. Too many times had I found that person, too many times had them been ripped away from me heartlessly, with only a bit of money left in my pocket for the exchange. The world may very well be against me, plotting my complete and utter demise; it felt like the truth right now.

Truly, there isn't a single person in the world who I could call friend. Even Juniper, my one true love, didn't completely understand me. She thought that I would let her give her life for me, that I would let myself live with the pain of her death on my heart. When you've seen as much as I have, death begins to become all you know, as if you're a slave to that merciless master. But if I were to let her die for me, my already blackening heart would surely snap, breaking into a million pieces from the loss of her. My entire family had already put me at the breaking point; there was no way that I wanted to cross that line.

Past Victors of the Hunger Games had tried to hide their pain, tried to live in the shadows, forcing a smile for whoever had seen them. Darkness clings to them though, holding tight, never letting go no matter how hard they try to fight it. Juniper, my beautiful rose, would have been able to survive that though. Like a light in the darkness, the whole world is renewed by her presence, by the petal like tones of her voice. Condemned to die in the arena, to die in the harsh and unforgiving Hunger Games, that fate didn't suit her at all.

"Yes…," Willa whispered, finally looking not as pale, yet breaking me from my train of thought, "My kin…Central Ree….Alisande Bell…Central and Alisande….Ree, Bell…"

As if on cue, a metallic claw lowered down into the arena, looking as if it had come out of nowhere to me. My eyes widen, the axe gripped tighter in my hand as I sprint towards Juniper, snaking an arm around her and pulling the beauty close to me. The people in the Capitol wouldn't be allowed to touch her, that much I knew; it would be my dying wish. No cannon had fired, Juniper's heart kept on beating, and Willa had an expression of sadness on her face. It didn't make any sense to me; none of our alliance had died, giving the Capitol no reason to retrieve us. Unless they had decided to end the Hunger Games, but that day I feared would never come, and certainly not when I would be alive to see it.

"What's happening?" Juniper wondered worriedly.

She was barely audible over what sounded to be like heavy footfalls, but my sense of judgment labeled it as the hovercraft engines. As a piece of machinery, it would only make sense for them to not be quiet in the very least sense, causing a racket so none of the Tributes would miss the collection. Little white pads had been attached to the claws, almost looking like baby blankets. Abruptly, I turned my head to look a Willa, taking in the sad but accepting gray eyes of hers.

"You knew this would happen," I accused, though my voice had no emotion in it, "Willa."

The new mother merely nodded, covering Alisande and Central's faces with kisses, muttering their middle names under her breath almost more than the first names. At the insistence of the metal claw, Willa carefully lowered the newborn twins into is, tears dripping down her face as the babies were raised up and out of the arena. Vengeance, a curious emotion for me to be experiencing right now, grew into my body, but the heavy drum like noises in the background made it all too hard to concentrate. Surely, those noises, creating such a din, would have stopped as soon as Alisande and Central had vanished from sight. But instead they grew louder and louder, so much so that the hairs on the back of my neck started to stand up.

"That's not a hovercraft…," I pointed out, feeling like seething because of my stupidity.

Juniper nodded sadly, knowing the conclusion before even I had reached it, "Axel, you and Willa should go on. I'll distract whatever it is…Mom said I'm good at that anyways…"

I shook my head, turning towards Willa briefly, watching the weary woman pick up her long and sharp dagger. Somehow, someone had sponsored that to the formerly pregnant lady, probably thinking that she would need it to defend herself. Well, with a mutt on its way to get us, that rich person in the Capitol is going to be realizing just how right they were. Making sure that Juniper had the only weapon we'd grabbed from the Bloodbath, a small knife, I prepared to face what would be my inevitable death. Of course, it would have been better if Willa and Juniper had left, that way I wouldn't have to worry about them becoming hurt in the process.

"Axel!" Juniper screams suddenly, causing me to turn my head quickly, so fast that my neck cracks in the process.

Standing over Juniper, carrying her bloody knife, is none other than Willa. A cruel smirk is on her face, ever more so as she stabs Juniper over and over again. Dazed for a moment, all I can think of is making sure that the mutation isn't going to get us; it takes me a moment to realize I now have two monsters to deal with. My jaw feels slack, so I quickly shut it and charge towards Willa, driving the increasing volume of the footsteps out of my mind.

"No!" I growl, tackling Willa to the ground; the bloodied knife leaves a gash on my forehead.

Somehow, the axe had slid out of my hand, but it doesn't matter to me anymore. All I want to do is punish this girl for making me feel so alone, for taking away a chance that I could have had of happiness. The cannon hadn't fired off yet, and I can hear Juniper pleading for me to give Willa a second chance, but it doesn't matter either. Nothing is the only thing I feel right now, the same thing that I had felt for so long; emptiness fills me. Pushing me to go faster and faster, to make Willa's petite face into the bloodied mess, to make her look the way that I feel right now.

"This is justice," I mutter, reaching behind me for the axe that I know all too well, but my hands only meet empty air.

Juniper's clutching it, holding it towards her own throat. Too much blood is going out of her, so my love can't tell me whatever she wants to say, but the message is quite clear. _Stop, Axel! Or I'll kill myself! _I don't understand why Juniper cares so much for Willa, after all, that girl from District Eight is the reason that she lies on the rocky floor right now. The reason that Juniper probably won't ever go home to see her friends and family; the reason that I'm going to feel so empty inside again. Victors must have felt this way, even Cypress, no matter how many times she insisted that she's all right, that she's proud to have represented District Seven in the Hunger Games. But there's no way that I want to give up Juniper, that I want to let her go.

"Juniper…," I sigh, getting off of the beaten Willa, clutching the girl's dagger in case she tries anything again.

Moments are all that we have left, I know, but I don't want to spend them with Willa. The mutation must have been close now, but Juniper probably doesn't know it, so she won't be as mad for what I'm about to do. Scooping up the girl from District Eight, who bares her teeth viciously, the walk towards the shadows is short and quick. My District Partner can't see what I'm about to do, but my former ally knows all too well.

"Please…," she splutters, "Ree Bell…Ree Bell...Ree Bell…"

Nodding towards Willa, it's all too easy to toss her into the shadows, to hear the resulting roars from whatever that mutation had been. Walking back towards Juniper, it's minutes later that I hear Willa's cannon; her death must have been painful. Tightening my fist, I know that it's the death that she deserved, even if I shouldn't have been the one to pass judgment. But I don't care anymore, you can't care when you feel empty, you can't care when you can't feel; that's Willa did to me. Everything that I had anymore is going to be lost, going to be gone, going to be….nothing.

"Axel…," Juniper croaks out, looking deathly pale, even in the dim lighting of the arena.

Life fades out of her eyes, bringing tears to my own. Juniper struggles to come up with her last sentence, but I prop up her head onto mine, trying to put my hands over her wounds. Logic told me that it wouldn't work, that blood loss claimed the lives of several Tributes in the Hunger Games. Teachers in school shouldn't have taught that, shouldn't have demanded that we learn that; logic isn't my best friend anymore. A bit of Juniper's blood comes up at me as she chokes out one last word, one last message for me, and then the cannon silences her forevermore.

_Win._

* * *

**Cashmere Combe:**** Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle:**** Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette:**** Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

Axel Treefall:

**Willa Hellmans: Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Fialla Howards: In some of my earlier notes in this story, you're marked down as the Victor of the 175th Hunger Games. And that could have happened too, had you kept your innocence towards the way that Nico had been treating you. Even though his actions, the only interaction that you had had with him, made you feel like dirt towards the end, he actually did love you, Fialla. You were that sweet girl, the one who made a mistake, a mistake that cost you your life in the end. But looking aside from that, Fialla, you must have been one of the bravest Tributes in the Hunger Games. Loving Nico would have been hard, knowing that only one of you would be let out of the arena alive. Sticking up for Rocky too, even if her death had been the trigger, letting you realize that Nico and Jackson were just about the same when it came to love. People are going to miss you dearly, so don't feel too guilty about what happened; it wasn't your entire fault that Nico died. Leah tricked him into that trap and you had no say in that. We're all going to miss you a lot, Fialla; may you rest in peace. **

**Juniper Griffin: Being a Tribute in love, not to mention sweet and selfless, I thought would have been boring to write at first. But the more I got to write you, the more that I admired your determination to let Axel come home to District Seven. Even when he clearly didn't want it to be so, you didn't bow your head and let him walk all over you; you did what you wanted to do. More women in the world need to be like that, willing to stick up for what they believe in, and I believe that you could have been an inspiration. Yet because you were Reaped for the Hunger Games alongside Axel, that wasn't to be the case. Had it been Axel that Willa sad, depression would have befallen you, believing that you couldn't repay him for his father's death anymore. Suicide would have been the end of your story that way, so I let you do what you had always wanted ever since you were Reaped. I'm going to miss you, along with your family and Axel, so don't think that no one cares, Juniper; may you rest in peace. **

**Willa Hellmans: When people start to learn about this Hunger Games, they're probably going to think of you as the bad guy. They're going to feel conflicted though, because of young Alisande and Central, but they aren't really thinking of you as a person. A teenage mother, being kicked out of your own home, must have been exceptionally difficult for you to manage. Without your friend taking you in, your story might have ended before you were even sent into the arena. But it didn't, as you rolled with the punches and came back stronger than ever. Though other people may have been hurt because of your actions, all you were doing was protecting your children; I think we all would have done the same, had we been in your shoes. Rest assured that Alisande and Central will be cared for, that your final words will be heeded, and that I will miss you, along with your friend and true family. Willa Hellmans, others may be rejoicing now, but I feel sorrow for you; may you rest in peace. **

* * *

**By the way, I wrote the author notes before the chapter, because they wouldn't have sounded as happy if I wrote them afterwards…The results are in! I'll have a new poll on your favorite sibling of the Tributes up shortly. **

**1. Juniper and Axel with 6 votes**

**2. Cashmere and Jackson, Jet and Adia with 4 votes**

**3. Leah and Jet, Fialla and Nicolas with 3 votes**

**4. Fialla and Josh with 2 votes**

**5. Reina and Elezar with 1 vote**

**We're down to the final thirteen Tributes! The next chapter will show the Careers VS. Minotaur, and afterwards will switch over to the fourth day of the Hunger Games. (No afternoon fights on the 3****rd**** day)**


	33. A Beastly Showdown

**The "ancient Hunger Games" that Wednesday refers to is "Fire and Ice: the 43****rd**** Hunger Games" by Hoprocker. You all should go read it, I don't have a Tribute in it, but it's the best Hunger Games story out there. I'm rooting for Angela! Go District Seven! Also, this chapter uses some Martial Arts terms, so at the bottom I'll put a brief description of them (as a black belt, it feels weird to not use them) if you're unsure as to what they mean. This chapter doesn't include Day Four, but I hope you still like it all the same.  
**

**Hunter: Thanks for wishing me a happy birthday 3:) *goes back to blowing up Creepers on Minecraft*  
**

_Wednesday Vespers (12), District Ten Female-POV_

The boy from Eleven, Persei, quickly scurried off to the sidelines. Had it been any other time, then I would have driven my mace into his skull, just as I had done to Cashmere; I smirk at the very thought. Both of them were weak to the very core, not deserving to continue their existence in this world. For a Career, the District One Tribute should have been very well aware that I had been there the entire time, that I had already carefully laid out a trap for the other three Careers. But of course, she'd just sat there singing away; blissfully ignorant to what could have cost her team mates their lives. My newest method had only been tested on that insect though, but the other Careers really are oversized bugs, so I'm positive that it will work out the way that I wanted it to.

Our resident Minotaur roars, drawing back out attention to it, and I quickly try to analyze it for any and all weak points. Sadly enough, the only ones that pop out to me seem to be its eyes, which I doubt I'll be able to hit, as it's twice my height. If it really is half man though, there should be a _very _sensitive part lower down, which I'm positive that no one would want a mace driven into. There wouldn't be any mutated bull human babies in all of Panem, or at least from this father, or mother, or thing. But then again, that probably wouldn't deter the Capitol at all; in some ancient Hunger Games films, they brought in a yeti to terrorize the Tributes. Melinda hadn't liked that one at all, claiming that it was all too creative for an arena, and promptly not allowing Robyn and me to continue watching it. Eh, whatever, I'd get to watch all the Hunger Games tapes I wanted when I became the newest Victor for District Ten.

"Oh shut up, you!" Leah complains, twirling an intricate dagger, with a slight curve towards the very tip.

Naturally, the only response she got was the Minotaur slamming his hoofs onto the ground repeatedly; much like a disobedient child would when throwing a hissy fit. And I would know, as I've done it myself on several occasions, most of them involving the phrase, "It's not fair!" towards the end of them. But then again, that had been the Other Me, the one that resided patiently in my, well, our mind, awaiting her chance to seize control again. Even she wasn't stupid enough to do it right now, as her claustrophobia would have paralyzed us with fear; I, on the other hand, am able to shut out silly things like fear quite effectively. Fingering my mace once again, I continued to enjoy Leah's little argument with the Minotaur, loving every bit of it almost as much as the joy of killing.

"How dare you mock me," Leah growled, her eyes narrowed, "Do you know who you're looking at…? No? Well, let me spell it out for you, pal. C-A-R-E-E-R-S! Careers! We've been training for the Hunger Games since before you were even thought of."

Griffin rolled his eyes a bit, probably thinking that Leah's only wasting time by yelling at this beast. Brandishing a Japanese long sword, I wouldn't be all too surprised if he drove into battle early, out of sheer bloodlust. For a minute, I'd been sure that he was about to do it, but instead he relaxed his hold on the sword. While I doubted that he'd just give up that easily on something, as he'd come off as determined and arrogant during my brief time in this alliance, it may have been that I was wrong originally. The only representative of District One maybe didn't care if Leah argued with a mutation; the latter of the three certainly did though.

Roaring in fury, the Minotaur finally charges forward, heading straight towards the District Two female Tribute. Leah tosses her hair behind her shoulder, probably so it won't get caught in the Minotaur's horns and round-steps precisely. Abruptly changing its course, so that its back is to Jackson and me, the beast tries in vain to charge again at her. The two of them continue on like this for minutes, until the tip of the horn scratches Leah's cheek, causing her to erupt in fury. Throughout the course of this Hunger Games, nothing had really managed to wound the District Two Tribute, and she wasn't all too happy that something did. Whipping out the cruel dagger, she jammed it into the Minotaur's chest, only to find that it didn't faze the mutation in the very slightest.

"What the…?" Jackson asked out loud, though none of us knew the answer, "That would have killed a Tribute!"

"Gee, you don't think?!" Leah yelled back through gritted teeth, pulling the dagger out of the howling beast; it had been coated in black blood.

Much like an ape in storybooks does, the Minotaur rammed its hands on its chest, screaming in rage. That wound Leah had caused quickly sealed up, as if it had never happened, which brought a bit of that hated emotion to mind. It scared me that something could do that; never before had the Capitol sent in a monster that the Tribute couldn't beat. It didn't make any sense at all that they would do that, as they prefer to have a show, which they can only do if they actually give us a fighting chance. Eying the sensitive part again, I can't help but wonder if that's our fighting chance; if that's the target we're supposed to be attacking towards. If it is, some of the squeamish kids in the Districts are going to want to cover their ears and close their eyes right now.

"Guys!" I yell out, catching the attention of my allies, "Hit him in the nunchakus!"

Jackson bursts out laughing, despite the danger in the situation, "The nunchakus? Do you mean his-?"

At one look from the District One Tribute, Jackson silences his little comments instantly. Despite the fact that Leah comes off of the leader in this alliance to me, Griffin's word appears to carry more weight that hers does. Making sure to take note of that, I gaze back towards the lumbering Minotaur, looking at it, only seeing the red blood of a Tribute marring its body. Whoever had designed it must have gone all out, as only one of the smarter Tributes, like myself, would have been able to figure that out. Disgusting though it was, they'd have to be thanking me later, for ensuring the existence of the Careers for another day. But as soon as one of them became injured, they'd quickly die off; my secret weapon wouldn't be so secret then, yet it would be effective nonetheless.

"You better be right," Leah muttered, bobbing and weaving under the Minotaur's fist.

"I am right," I told her, smiling sweetly as I ran forward, leaving the boys behind to watch and learn.

At my challenge, the beast seems to forget all about Leah, focusing his attention on me and my mace. That's another thing that I've noticed about this mutation- it doesn't have the ability to multitask at all. Which could be in my advantage, as I just have to duck behind another Career whenever I tire of fighting, letting them be forced to switch in for me. Smirking maliciously, I swing my mace high, embedding it in the mutation's chest; it roars from the blow, but it again doesn't appear to do any damage. With a smooth flick of my wrist, the spiked ball is pulled out, coated completely in the same gooey black blood that had ended up on Leah's dagger. If the Other Me had been in charge, the short breakfast I'd eaten this morning would have ended up all over the Minotaur, but I managed to hold down the vomit. I swung the mace again, this time aiming for the sensitive spot from before, right as the mutation swipes at me with its awfully large hands.

Unfortunately, the chance to duck or dodge isn't mine, allowing the monster to knock a clean blow onto my head. Because of my size, along with the power in the blow, I'm sent flying clear across the room, the mace still lodged into the manly parts of the Minotaur. A guttural growl is heard clearly, but I don't heed it much mind, staring up at the ceiling as I'm sent soaring. Pain sprouts through my head, almost enough to make any attempts at thought maddening, but thankfully survival instincts take over. Curling my head forward, ever so slightly, to make my body into a ball like the self-defense instructor had said, I waited for what felt like eternity to land. In reality, I'd only been in the air for a couple of seconds, but it still didn't take away from the effect of what my mind had been feeling.

"Wednesday!" Leah shrieks, probably just saddened at the idea of needing to get yet another new Career to guard the Cornucopia.

Our eyes lock onto each other, but I feel my own begin to glaze over, not matter how hard I try to fight it. Finally, the ground is only an inch away from me, and upon connecting with it, I slap out my hands at the forty five degree angle. Even if I'm still jolted backwards, feet arching towards the ceiling, nothing feels as if it's broken; the crazy break-fall technique may very well have saved my life. But evidently, the Minotaur put too much force into that to just be able to stop myself so easily, as my feet keep on going farther backwards, touching the ground behind me. There had been a second step to the movement, but I'd never been really good at it, something I regretted as only my arms and head were keeping me from going completely backwards.

"I'm okay…," I mutter, painfully twisting my body around, that way everything is straight and the way that it should be, "Just a bit d-dizzy…"

Jackson waltzes over, leaving Griffin and Leah to double team the Minotaur; he's been doing that a lot, another thing that I've taken note of. Winking suggestively at me, the District Two boy extends his hand, to which I glare furiously at him, slapping it away. He lets out a sigh, but I kick out my leg, purposefully not hitting him, to make sure that my message is clear.

"Got it…," Jackson mutters under his breath, though he still doesn't go away.

"Good," I jab, scowling as I swing myself up to my feet, hating how short I look compared next to him.

Just about each person in the Hunger Games makes me look like some sort of elf; an evil pixie might be a better phrase for it though. As of such, it would make Jackson Leo Ross, which is a ridiculous name if I do say so myself, a pedophile, along with a hypocrite. But still, Jackson does know not to mess with me, as I could reveal his secret to Leah and Griffin easily. Would I care that they'd scorn him for the rest of his life? Nope, not at all; it isn't even my fault that Jackson got beaten by a twelve year old within the first hour of the Hunger Games. When I had found out that he lied to Leah and Griffin, saying that it had been Jet Newton, the weird kid from District Thirteen that had done that to him, it had been hard for me to contain my laughter. Right now, just thinking about it almost caused a giggling fit, in which one or two of them quietly escaped; Jackson heard them, but he didn't dare to mention it.

As the two of us headed back over to Griffin and Leah, the mace is still lodged painfully inside of the Minotaur. Two Careers sit on top of the mutation, stabbing each and every weapon available from the Cornucopia inside of him; an army could have been well stocked from the array they'd gathered. Yet somehow, the mutation continues to struggle weakly, its glowing green eyes being the only sign off life that remains. Icky black blood is bleeding out freely, the wounds not being able to close as the weapons remain inside of them; that probably had been the actual weakness, though I think my idea worked rather well too. Upon approaching them, Griffin quickly steps off of the Minotaur; its chest isn't even rising anymore, so I doubt that it's taking in any oxygen.

"You lived…," Griffin comments, sizing me up for any injuries, though I can't help but believe that he sounds disappointed from the fact.

"So?" I ask, my eyebrows raised, smirking proudly up at him, "Got a problem with it?"

The District One Tribute doesn't acknowledge my comment in any way, looking back towards Leah, who is continuing to maul the Minotaur. Just about each inch of it is continuing to ooze the black liquid, so I figure that it'd be fine if I retrieved my precious mace; without it, I'd be rendered totally helpless in this arena. Doing so, the area looks completely destroyed, and luckily, it happens to stay that way. Looking back towards Leah, I've found that two knives are in the eye sockets; that probably would have done the trick.

"The beast is dead," Leah confirms, standing up from her crouch, "Do you think they'll come to collect it?"

"Probably not…I say that we cut it up into several pieces. And then, we can hide them behind various doors; there's no way it'd be able to come back if we do that," Griffin suggests.

"What's this now, the chop house?" Jackson comments, sounding immensely pleased with himself, and barely able to not break out cackling.

Leah grinned cruelly, "Yeah, and you'll be first up on the menu, Griff-Griff."

Right when Griffin was going to retort, to claim that it wasn't his proper name, a white parachute sailed down towards us. Even though I knew that it had been meant for him, I insisted on grabbing it, partially because it is actually quite close to me. About a medium sized package, the distinct smell of baked goods drifted out of it, making me wonder if it could actually be what I thought it was. The other Careers watched with anxious eyes, despite the fact that the Cornucopia has given us a huge stockpile, meaning that any gifts we received are automatically unnecessary. Ripping off the wrapping, a delicate little white platter is the first thing that catches our eyes. They really did it…

I burst out laughing upon reading it, "Good job, Griff-Griff!"

A fantastically decorated white cake, with tiny gems sparkling all over it, ended up being the sponsor gift. There's enough for each Career to have their fair share, but it's the blue writing on it that catches all of our attention. 'Go Griff-Griff Hallway!' had been inscribed, making Leah grin wider than the Cheshire Cat upon discovering how well her nickname had caught on. Looking over towards Griffin, his face had been colored an embarrassed red, knowing how his supporters had now dubbed him forever and always as Griff-Griff Hallway. If I had been in his shoes, I would have been mad as well, but I'm not, so it's once again not my problem to deal with.

_Sorry, sponsor demanded that –Enyo _

Upon reading that note, a wave of laughter rippled through all the Careers again, followed by Jackson leading a cheer, to which Leah and I joined in after a bit, "Go Griff-Griff!"

Evidently, the District One Tribute refused to speak to any of us for the rest of the night. But alas, none of us really cared, too amused by the antics of the hilarious sponsor.

_Jet Newton (16), District Thirteen Male-POV_

_Wind sweeps through the creaky old house, freezing my pale form to the very bone. It'd been only hours since I'd fled, since I'd been able to escape his evil clutches. Would he be able to find me again? Moonlight spills through the window, illuminating the room, but I don't dare move a muscle. In my hiding place under the bed, hopefully nothing will be able to see me; hopefully everything will be all right for once in my lifetime. River and Skylark had managed to escape, and they had had less time to plan it all out than I did, so logic is on my side at the moment. Before, in my extremely short life, it never had been a helper to me, instead further proving the reasons that I wouldn't be able to do something. The reasons that I would fall short on each leap, that each bound would be a centimeter off, and that little bit would make all the difference to me. _

_ Abnormal pounding sounds on the door, causing my heartbeat to accelerate, a curse that comes from simply being human. Deep breathing proves to not help it at all, as each tingle that runs up and down my spine feels like a knife in the back, the blow that would cause me to lose my life forevermore. Rustling wind reminds me of acid, the unnerving effect causing silent screams of pain to go through my mind, but I don't dare move. If I move, then the Master will be sure to find me; the universe has made that much clear to me. People have tried countless times to escape him, and though only two so far have succeeded, none of them ever do return. _

_ By leaving him, the Master will sometimes choose the most horrible punishment. Capital Punishment, the death sentence, had frequently been one of his favorite choices; Sue had taken the fall for River and Skylark last week. And now, she's floating up in heaven, in the afterlife, all for something that she had taken no part in. But because Sue had been the oldest, she had been rendered responsible; that very thing could have been coming to me as well. A hoot of an owl breaks through my thoughts, causing myself to bite down on my lip in fear, forced to wait and listen to the echoing footsteps below. Vaguely, I am able to hear my pursuer coming closer, listening intently, just like he had instructed us to do so many times in our training. _

_Someone is going to die for what I've done tonight, I remember sadly. Firefox, a feisty girl from District Three, had been the next oldest after Sue, I believe. The Master probably had already dug out a grave for one of us; too bad for her, as Firefox would be the one going in it. But then again, it could have just as easily been me; it seems more likely the louder the footsteps get. Am I ever going to be gone? Am I ever going to truly escape? _

_Am I ever going to be free?_

Loud and annoying, the Capitol anthem rips me out of my thoughts. Glaring down on me, its seal looks too fancy and too grand; whoever designed it had been trying all too hard to come up with something that people would like. Part of me just wanted them to get on with it, so I can tell what had happened to that Minotaur, the one that I know had been sent in after me. Somehow, the Master must have convinced the Gamemakers to kill me off; probably using my low training score as an excuse. It had worked, driving me closer to the other Tributes, but that's where the effectiveness cut off. Pondering this, I chose to sit back and relax, watching as the identities of the dead Tributes would be revealed to me.

Fialla Howards, the cute little girl from District Four, is the first of the deaths shown today. Just like when she was alive, a blush is on her face for her picture, as she looks down sheepishly at us all. Could the Minotaur have taken her life? Pondering upon this, and remembering how much the Capitol had adored her, it didn't seem to match up completely in my mind. Her image vanishes from the sky, and I count the seconds until the next one reappears. It is a relatively short count, which if my memories of how they show the deaths at home are correct, means that it had been short and quick. There is no way that a mutation, the prized beast of the Capitol would have done that to any other Tributes. Thus, Fialla must have been killed by the Career Pack or something; it's the only thing that made any sense.

The blonde girl from District Seven, Juniper Griffin, is the next shown up in the sky. Her death probably had been a result of the Minotaur, as the Head Gamemaker particularly detests that District. All reason behind that fact slipped my mind at the moment, as the silly political debates in the Capitol didn't matter all too much to me when the Master's breathing down my neck. Sweet blue eyes looked all too innocent for the Hunger Games as well; Juniper even had certain warmth in her gaze, akin to the one someone who thought that everything was going to be all right. And judging from the time her picture vanished, her death hadn't been as quick and painless as Fialla's had been. Part of me felt sorry for her, but Juniper would have had to die at some point or another.

The final face shown up in the sky belongs to Willa Hellmans, the pregnant girl from District Eight. Did she ever give birth to her babies? I would have thought that they'd make a special announcement if she did, but that evidently isn't the case. After I won the Hunger Games, then I supposed that I would be able to find out, yet she looks unsettled in her picture. Soft gray eyes have something hidden lurking in their deaths, a deep and dark secret that I'm not all too sure that I want to find out. According to my little judging system, Willa suffered a long and extremely painful death as well. A bit of pity fills up in me, but it quickly leaves, in perfect timing with the Capitol seal appearing in the sky once more.

Only twelve more Tributes are in between me and my freedom now…

* * *

**Cashmere Combe:**** Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle:**** Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Reina Vane:

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette:**** Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin:**** Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

Axel Treefall:

**Willa Hellmans:**** Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**R.I.P. Minotaur…You will probably only be missed by me….**

**Round-step: This is a basic movement where your back foot moves about 180 degrees, your front foot pivoting, so you end up facing a different side. **

**Bobbing and weaving: You lower your stance so both knees are bent and "weave" around the punch. It makes a U shape if done properly **

**Break-fall: Upon being shoved to the ground, you tuck your head in so you're more like a ball. Slapping the ground at a forty five degree angle, you continue to roll backwards, and sometimes need to do a roll to completely stop moving. Wednesday almost performed it perfectly, but what she got right saved her from breaking several bones. **

**If I left out any techniques that you didn't understand, leave it in a review and I'll explain it in the next chapter!**


	34. Trapped

_Maya Eberhart (16), District Six Female-POV_

It's been five days since I've been on the outside, five days since I've been able to think of myself as not a killer. One of my traps evidently had killed someone; I'd made sure to check on each and every one of them. Still, the face of the victim remained shapeless, shifting and forming a dozen times into a dozen different horrifying possibilities. Ever since Cassius had died, around the time that my very first trap had been enacted, the horrible feeling of guilt had been plaguing at my mind, heart, and soul.

Had I murdered my District Partner? Could Cassius' blood be covering my hands? Quickly, I glance down at them, to make sure that it's not so, but only a faint covering of dirt is on them. Wiping it furiously off on my pants, the illusion of quiet footsteps greets my ears, but I don't pay attention to them at all. The Capitol, not to mention District Six, frowns upon killing your own District Partner. Each Tribute that has done it never left the arena alive, as there'd always been something that happened to take them out, obviously the work of the Capitol. They may like drama, but they also like to see some loyalty, since the Hunger Games would otherwise look like the blood fest that it clearly is. People would protest sending us into the arena each year, meaning the cancellation of the favorite pastime of the cruel Capitol officials.

Briefly, my mind drifts back to my family at home. Now and forever, Marco is safe from the Reaping, but that doesn't mean that Cat won't be Reaped next year. In fact, I ought to be extremely careful while here; if I upset the Capitol, they'll rig the odds to be against her. There's no way that my sister would have lasted in the arena, what with her being skittish and shy. Confidence is key to surviving here, needed to remember who you are, and required to remain the person that you were. Am I the same person? Pausing to think about this, the answer eludes my grasp, leaving myself feeling bewildered. Before, I wouldn't have even thought or considered killing someone; it's wrong, morally unsound, and not at all just. But now, I wouldn't think twice about not taking a life, caring more about my own survival than of theirs.

Is that really right? Should people really be thinking that way? No, people shouldn't be, but it happens each and every year. Nothing is going to stop it; the spark of Panem died out years ago. I sigh slightly, not even bothering to continue on walking down this tunnel, to check on another one of my traps. Only three of them had been operating in this arena, with now only two remaining; the hovercraft had snatched up the trap as well as the victim. This has motivated for me to remain nearby both of the two remaining ones, so the precious supplies wouldn't be lost forever, held so close but taken away so far. Rerunning that sentence through my head, it didn't sound as if it made sense, but it did to me. While it doesn't make me think that I've been changing, maybe that just means that I am. Probably each person in this arena is changing, the Careers becoming the Tributes and the Tributes becoming the Careers.

Fluttering down towards me, I would have smiled previously, but not anymore. Looking pure and innocent, crafted out of the finest silk, the white parachute truly is deception at its greatest. Whatever is inside of it, I doubt that it's anything that would benefit all of the Tributes as a whole; the motto of the Hunger Games truly is 'all for one and none for all.' Slowly reaching out my hand, it lands neatly into my grasp, my name written neatly on it, probably for whoever had to launch it out of the hovercraft.

It continues to amaze me how they're able to have the parachutes come down into here. Are they suspending the particles of dirt above temporarily? They must have been messing with some matter, as not a single smudge mars the pristine clothe. Well, besides the slight bit of dirt that had come off of my hands; they didn't exactly send in wet wipes to keep up looking nice whilst fighting to the death. And as no one died yesterday, leaving only thirteen of us left in the arena, they're probably going to be sending in some sort of mutation soon enough. Hopefully though, someone will have a huge fight somewhere else, keeping the Hunger Games from being boring, as well as keeping me alive and sane for a little longer. One of the things that always will run out in the Hunger Games is time; right now, I can't help but wish that someone could sponsor me some more of it.

_Keep on going, Maya! We all believe in you! –Cassandra _

The note from the Escort manages to pull out a small smile, though it's lopsided, as to not move the small bandage on my cheek, covering up the gash I'd received during the Bloodbath. Carefully folding the tiny piece of paper in two, and sticking it into my pocket, it feels as if it's a second token to me. With the little note of encouragement, alongside with my actual token, the locket with my family in it, strength to keep on going is renewed in me. I have to make it home; my family is counting on me to do so. Hopefully they're doing okay, not starving or anything akin to that; they need to stay alive long enough for me to come home. After I've gotten home, Cat won't have to take out any tesserae, as she'd have all the food that she would need provided for her in Victors Village.

"Thanks, guys," I whisper, just loud enough for the sponsors to hear me, but quiet enough so any Tributes nearby would remain oblivious to my presence

Finally opening up the package, an exquisite looking dagger is revealed. Way larger than my small knife, I can't help but grin slightly, knowing that this weapon would be all the better to use in the arena. Plus, now I could use the little knife in one of my traps; Cassandra really is just as good as a Mentor. Stuffing the white parachute in the neon pink bag, which I've begun to detest the longer that I'm in the arena, my odds feel like they've skyrocketed once again. With the death of two Careers, the chances of District Six winning the Hunger Games have raised tremendously, especially since my traps can now be deadlier than they had been before.

Reaching inside of the detested bag, the loaf of bread is the first thing my finger touches, sending a wave of hunger through me. So much do I just want to dig in and eat it, but I've been only allowing myself to consume three slices a day; no one knows how long this Hunger Games is going to last. It's harder than it sounds, but I manage to make myself not tear into the delicious loaf of bread I'd been sponsored, and from the taste of it, straight from the ovens of District Six. Eventually, my hand pulls out the rest of my twine; scarcely enough for this trap, but it should work well enough. After all, it's easier to build one with a knife swinging at them than a stalactite piece dropping on their head.

Knife and twine in hand, I sprint quickly down to the nearest door, the one without a trap set up onto it. Sure, it's going to leave me in this corridor, but if I need to get out for some reason, it'll be even faster to take them apart from my vantage point, unlike the unfortunate Tributes who spring them. My handiwork, as always, takes literally no time to assemble, the pressure of being in the arena actually helping me work faster. Helping me ensure that these traps won't aim to injure, but to kill; I grimace at the thought, thinking back to about how the arena changes us. About how a Victor truly never leaves the Hunger Games behind, as evidence from the stories of screaming coming from their beds in Victors Village, though all of them are vacant in District Six right now.

By the time that I've finished, my thoughts drift back to those soft footsteps. Someone's stepping extremely quietly, or they're very tiny and petite, probably not older than me in that case. Stepping back abruptly, knowing that they're coming my way, that unless they wise up and turn around, there's going to be only twelve Tributes left in the Hunger Games soon enough. There aren't many things to hide behind, with the exception of the rocks, so I just stand out in the middle of the area. Whoever it is, they won't have enough time to react; it may be better to let them see my face before they die. Would I want to know who killed me? Would I want to attach someone to blame? Thinking that through a good many times, I make my choice and step out of the line of sight, to eliminate any fear that they could possibly feel upon seeing me; all my traps were designed to be painless, if possible.

"Adia?" the soft voice of a girl calls out, leaving only five possibilities as to whom it could be, "Are you there?"

Part of me wants to blurt out, "Run away! I'm not Adia!" but I hold my tongue. No sound greets the girl's ears, and I don't dare to move a muscle. Guilt is already swirling through me, but it's entirely possible that I'm taking out a murderer, someone who had taken the life of young children. But then again, whoever took my own life could say the same exact thing. Morals have become infinitely confusing in the arena, making what is wrong seem right, and what is right even more difficult than it had ever been before.

Slowly, the brass handle begins to turn, and I silently countdown in my head. Time has run out for this girl, and I can already see the knife ready to move as the door is pushed open. It slams against the rocks, exposing the girl completely, and I sadly note that the Tribute is in the perfect place to fall. To make matters worse, the marks of angry hands are upon her, a faded look to them helping me tell how long she had had them. With fiery red hair, tangled and unkempt, the petite figure is easy to narrow down to one possibility.

Flying out towards her, Reina doesn't have the time to scream as the knife is embedded into her heart. In my mind, the death is replayed over and over again, each and every time looking more painful than the last. The District Five Tribute stumbles backwards, even though the life has already left her eyes; the cannon fires a second later. A corpse, a shell of the girl who had time moments ago, collapses to the ground. Crumpled like a ragdoll, I can't help but take pity onto the abused Tribute; angry hands are going to forever be marked upon her. Yanking the knife out of Reina's heart, blood flows out of the wound, covering her dead body.

"Sorry, Reina…," I mumble, picking her up awkwardly, "I just need to get home…For them…"

Blood begins to cover me, something that I can't help but be curious by. The girl is dead, life is out of her body, and her little screen in front of her Mentor would have gone black. Maybe this is my punishment, for adding another life that I had taken, for ruining another person's future. Guilt swirls through me again, but this time I can't quite bring myself to purge it, just letting it take hold of me. Dropping Reina in the middle of this little section, in between the two doors so that no other Tributes would see her there. Tears for the girl spill out of my eyes, blurring my vision as I go back to set up my trap again, doing it exactly the same as I had the time before.

"I'm sorry…," I whisper again, stepping back once more to examine the reconstructed killing machine.

Would someone else meet the same end as Reina today? Probably not, but then again, strange things can happen in the arena. With a jolt, I realize that Reina may have had supplies on her, supplies that I'll want to take before they lift her body out of the arena. Sprinting back over towards the corpse, trying to ignore the repulsiveness I felt towards my own actions, a backpack with supplies in it is my reward. I yanked it off of her body, thankful that it wasn't the same horrid pink color as my own; this one suited me a lot better.

Walking backwards once again, the odds of my survival increasing more and more, regret is the only thing I feel as I watch the Tribute return home to District Five; someone there will hopefully be mourning her. Someone out there must hate me, must hope that I'm dead, and it's a strangely comforting thought. That the things I've been doing haven't been going unnoticed, that not everyone is going to clap and cheer me on with each trap that I set. If anything, it's going to be the only punishment that I'll ever receive for killing two people, for ending two lives, for closing the book on two stories that had never gotten the chance to begin. After I won the Hunger Games, at least twenty five families are going to hate me as well; good, I want them to hate me.

I don't want to be celebrated for taking their lives. I don't want to be rewarded for it; I want someone to hate me. Because if someone hated me, then that means that someone cares; in the Capitol, it feels as if no one at all cares. And that may have been the worst thing in the Hunger Games, as no one cares when it strips the humanity of all those children away, as it takes away their voice and opinion in what happens to them. Right now, it's probably even taking mine away, and I hate the Capitol for what they're doing. Someone needs to end the Capitol now, someone needs to destroy each stone on their foundation, and throw away the keys to their precious hovercrafts. Grimacing, the cameras are probably zooming in on me right now, showing the world Maya Eberhart, the cold blooded killer of Reina Vane and one other.

Digging through the bag, Reina had a lot of sponsors, or had been a very good thief during her time in the arena. My entire collection now consisted of the following: One partially eaten loaf of bread, one dagger, two backpacks, two knives, one bottle of water, a couple apples, some meat, and two odd stick things. Through my actions, all of the rationing that I had been doing is now unneeded, which my grumbling stomach practically cheered at, but it still felt wrong. Even as I reached into the tiny red bag, pulling out a piece of meat and an apple, biting into each of them slowly, savoring the taste, I couldn't feel all too good about doing it. Be it a requirement for survival, but that didn't take away the fact that this food belonged to someone who had died. Someone who had their clock stop ticking because of my hands, and I felt horrible about it.

Reina Vane didn't have to die; I didn't have to kill. But I did it anyways…

* * *

_A world of hope_

_A world of tears_

_Forever sentenced to your fears_

_People come_

_And people go_

_Yet the scars never do quite show_

_Deep down inside they hide_

_Helping the façade with each and every lie_

_Suspicion is lowered_

_Traces denied_

_Only you know what truly lies inside_

_Meek and scared_

_Brave and confident_

_Changes to you are always evident._

_As you rose to the challenge_

_And faced the odds_

_The unsuspecting happened one day_

_Fate that others had been dealt_

_Befell you, _

_The frightened Reina Vane_

* * *

**Cashmere Combe:**** Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle:**** Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette:**** Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

Axel Treefall:

**Willa Hellmans: Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Reina Vane: You were one of the Tributes that grew on me over time, making it hard to write out your death with it finally did occur. Frightened of your uncle, unconfident, and not willing to stick up for yourself, we're probably polar opposites. Of course, that made you harder to write, but it made you all the more interesting to me. In your Tribute form, they requested romance for you, yet I found putting you in an alliance with Adia worked quite better. During the Hunger Games, you weren't able to find your ally, forcing you to make the choices and trust your instincts. Even if you ended up having blood on your hands, you developed into a strong character, something that I had been hoping for you to do. Don't be hard on yourself, Reina, be happy that you were able to overcome your struggle, and now are reunited with your family again. Adia and I will miss you, while your family will cherish your presence with them again; may you rest in peace. **

**First place: Copper Combe with five votes**

**Second place: Sapphire Riddle with four votes**

**Third Place: Alura Holloway with three votes**

**Fourth Place: Dragon Holloway, Matt Dagger, Trina Mercer, and Fabian Loya with two votes**

**Fifth Place: Sapphire Combe, Nimmo Finaca, Catalina "Cat" Eberhart, Lilac Griffin, Forest Treefall, Halo Lessing, Medea Lessing, and Miri Baxwoll with one vote**

**Sixth Place: Diamond Combe, Ruby Combe, Pearl Combe, Emerald Combe, Mariah Ross, Kallice Howards, Stuart Howards, Raff Brewen, Columbae Brewen, Majoris Brewen, Septimus Brewen, Skene Brewen, Scorpii Brewen, Muscida Brewen, Eta Brewen, Britzel Vane, Brylana Vane, Marco Eberhart, August Lisette, and Corvus Tremaine with no votes**


	35. Keep on Kicking

**Okay, so this WAS going to be the update until Fanfiction took this story down. They claimed that it was too interactive, so all of that sort of stuff has been moved to my website, which you all have the link to. I messaged each person who reviewed what happened, as I had a record of all your names, but evidently, some of you though I had been the one to delete it. No, Purple-Tacos is right; I changed Sunken Hopes' document space into the 175th. That way, you would know it isn't gone for good. If you have any more questions, PM me or leave a comment on the blog and I'll be happy to answer!  
**

_Axel Treefall (17), District Seven Male-POV_

Gritting my teeth, I don't care if anyone finds me now. What are they going to do? Kill me? Yeah, right, I'm so scared of that. Everything is going to be ruined for me if that happens. But what's that? Everything already is ruined! Juniper is dead and nothing matters anymore to her! Anger and nothingness is the only thing I can feel anymore, and I don't care at all about that. No matter what they send me with one of those white parachutes, it's not going to make a difference at all. It's not going to affect my situation; they can't send me someone who died. They killed Forest, my only brother, they killed Juniper, my only love, and they killed my father.

Punching my fist into the rock wall, pain explodes through me, but it is a good kind of pain. It's the pain that may help me keep on living, even if I don't want to at all. Shaking my hand, trying to take out the shock of it, I can't help but be reminded of a similar scene all too long ago. Juniper had been alive then, that night on the train, when Cypress had tricked the two of us into allying. If I hadn't allied with Juniper, would she still have been alive? No, my love probably would have died like Abe Mercer, the boy from District Eight, right before the Hunger Games had even started. My heart contracts at the very thought, causing me to ram my fist back into the wall repeatedly.

"I hate the world!" I screeched, punching and punching, not caring that a fresh trickle of blood had started from my knuckles.

It's all the Capitol's fault that she's dead. Each and every one of those stinking aristocrats could have done something to help her! They could have saved her life! But no! They had to take away my only bit of sunshine; they forced my rose to wilt. And because of that, all of them would pay for with their lives for what they had done, just like Willa Hellmans had to. A smirk grows on my face, thinking about the sheer agony that she must have been feeling that entire time. She must have been screaming for release, screaming for mercy, and I wished that I could have been there to hear it, to reap the rewards of my actions. But alas, I had to be with Juniper, the entire reason that I killed Willa in the very first place.

She had no right to do it! No one, and I mean no one, should have been allowed to go within ten feet of Juniper. Though my love may not have liked that, at least she would be alive and well, instead of traveling back home to District Seven in a box. For that matter, why hadn't Willa stabbed me with the dagger? Why stab Juniper? Everyone knew that I was the one with real skill, the one who could, and did, easily kill any Tribute in the Hunger Games. Yet for some twisted reason, that girl from District Eight, my least favorite District as of now, had to go and murder Juniper. Darkly, I knew that it must have been out of spite, something that I wasn't all too sure that the pregnant woman would have had in her. Besides, the two little mongrels had already been taken out of the arena, so it wasn't like we were threatening her kin or anything like that. Of course, I did make them orphans, unless Mr. Wonderful, Willa's boyfriend, actually took the time of day to take care of them. If Mr. Wonderful's anything like Willa though, I doubt that they'll ever be taken back to District Eight; they'll grow up in the twisted Capitol, exempt from the Reaping, but worse than their mother.

A chuckle escapes from me at that very thought that someone could be worse than Willa. That someone could be worse than the murderer of Juniper Griffin, the most thoughtful and caring person in the entire world, and perhaps even in all of time. It escalates into a full out cackle, a laughing fit that I cannot quite stop, as I think about how funny this is! People out there actually can become more twisted than the word twisted itself! Just all of those little letters, combined together, and it gave them the authority to believe that they're worse than Willa. In fact, it's so funny and impossible that I drop to the ground, slamming my bleeding fist onto the rocks over and over again, kicking the air like I've been possessed. The last time I ever thought of something this funny had been years and years ago, back when happiness had existed; that thought also sends another ripple of laughter through me.

Something wet is flowing down my face, but it isn't red like blood, the color that now each of my hands is covered in. Am I crying? Why am I crying? This is the most fun I've had in a while, just thinking on and on about that irony. Listening to myself, I suppose that my chuckling may sound a bit insane, but it doesn't bother me at all. As always, nothing is all I feel, even the violent emotion of anger being stolen away from me. Nothing hurts anymore, not even the dull and aching pain that I should have been feeling in my swollen fists. If only I had been like this before, then everything would have been so easy, and maybe I would have been able to…able to…able to save Juniper's life….

"You know what, Capitol?" I call out, slowly standing up, even if I'm chuckling to the point of pain, if I could have felt, that is, "I don't care anymore! I just don't care! So why don't you just kill me right now, and we can get this thing over with?! Just do it! I dare you to!"

No response. Eerie and chilling silence is the only thing that greets my demands, so I quickly look around to see if anyone is there. Besides my axe, the rest of the supplies lying abandoned miles away, I'm completely alone in the arena. Nothingness is all I feel, and fittingly, nothingness is all that's there; even I don't exist anymore. This arena isn't real anymore, this country isn't real anymore, this time isn't real anymore, and Juniper isn't even real anymore. Had I been imagining her the entire time? The feel of her hand beneath mine, clutching tightly, so much that I could feel the feel her blood rushing through her veins, that felt all too real. Surely, the Capitol wouldn't have stooped that low…But then again, all they do talk about all day long is drama. The entire time, they'd been playing one cruel joke after joke on me, just seeing how long it would be until I completely broke down; well, I wasn't going to. They'd have to push me down a thousand times if they wanted me to fall down, and after a quick glance around, it remained to just be Axel and his axe; no Capitol anywhere in sight.

"I hate the bloody Capitol!" I yell, looking expectantly up at the ceiling, "Each and every one of you is stupid, vain, and fat! Yeah, I said it!"

For some reason, the lack of acknowledgement of my cries made me feel even better. It may have been hours before I stopped screaming up at them, but nothing at all happened; Axel and his axe were still kicking. Most of the people in the Capitol must have been appalled by what I've been yelling at them no doubt, so the cameras had probably been turned away from me at the moment. Oh well, not like I cared, as it's impossible to care when the only thing you feel in nothingness. Cypress had even sent me a little photo of Juniper and I, back when I could still feel, and tried to encourage me to keep on going. Golden curls had covered my chest, with my strong yet pale arms encircling her, holding her safe against my rock solid form. Looking back down at my bloodied fists, laughter escapes me again; that hadn't been true either.

_Win for her, Axel! –Cypress _

That entire little note had been pointless, as you can't win for someone who is already dead. Nothing about it made sense, so it must have been another attempt at humor from my Mentor, the one who had sent in the axe to me. Walking over to it, the face of Griffin Holloway flashes through my mind, and a yearning fills me completely. His blood would lessen the nothingness, but I'm not all too sure, since he hadn't been the one that killed my father. But at the same time, he was, all of District One is held responsible, so it's all right if he is the one to pay for their crimes. After all, they all rant on about the honor of representing their District; by the time I'm done with him, District One is going to be out of the Hunger Games for sure. More laughter escapes me, not from a joke, but because it just feels right and normal to do so.

"I'm coming to get you, District One!" I jeer, guffawing the entire time as I do so, "Your money can't save you now, 'cause Axel and his axe are on the way!"

Grabbing my beloved axe, for a brief second, I feel a flicker of something. Emotion feels foreign to me now, and I can't exactly tell what it was that came back to me. Too bad it's gone now, drowning in the sea of nothingness that has begun to define me in this arena of death and destruction. Would it come back when the blood of District One flowed freely on my hands? Even if it didn't, it's not like I'd be able to care; thanks to Willa and the Capitol, I'd never be able to care again. They'd have to pay for that, some sort of horrible punishment, even worse than being fed to the Minotaur. Perhaps I'd go and start the next rebellion, to finally finish what the Mockingjay had dimwittedly started.

Abruptly walking forward, the Cornucopia must not be all too far from here. Tightening my grip on the axe handle, a sadistic and malicious smirk grows on my face until the insane laughter kicks up once again. Steadying footsteps of mine slap the ground again and again; sounding like the slaps I'd be giving to Griffin, which is if my axe isn't available. We all know that I'm capable of doing much more than chopping wood with this little beauty; Axel and his axe are sure to win the battle. Minutes must have passed by now, but I still don't see the Career Pack around here anywhere; the Cornucopia can't have been that far away. Hadn't the entire point of the rampaging mutation been to drive us all together? To ensure that the Capitol would be receiving the show that they had been wanting?

After what felt like half an hour, in which the boring nothingness had continued to plague me, the waiting period is finally over. Silent echoes of voices reach my ears, letting me know that Tributes are ahead; probably the Careers. Really, they had been the most pathetic ones in the history of the Hunger Games, not even going out to do organized hunts or anything; or at least, they hadn't to my knowledge. Had those training schools of them finally made a large mistake? The face of Leah Dagger worms its way into my mind, letting me know that at least one real Career is still alive in the arena, and all too willing to extend the nothingness that I'd been feeling to all that I was. Nothingness was me already, so she already missed out on her chance; I let out a chuckle at that.

"Oh, Careers…," I call out, lazily jerking open the steel door, "Axel and his axe are here…"

All of the murmuring instantly ceases, even more so as I poke my head inside, a dagger seemingly sprouting out of the wall a couple feet away. Good, they're all ready for a fight, but this is all between District One and I. Leah and Jackson would just have to wait their turn, and then Axel and his axe will be all too happy to give them what has been coming to them. True to her name, Leah's holding a vicious dagger, a plethora of knives strapped onto a compact black vest. Of course, one of them just happens to be near my head; it's fun to pluck it out of the wall, to watch as my still bleeding hands cover it in delightful red blood.

"Looking for something?" I asked cheekily, a feeling coursing through me before vanishing again.

"Yes," Leah replied, scowling, "And if you don't mind, I'd like it back. _Now._"

Shaking my head, I stared down at the tip of the knife and couldn't help but wonder. Previously, hitting my hands against the rock wall for hours didn't hurt at all. It may very well be that I'd feel no pain from the knife either, that nothing really was all that I could feel; the hypothesis sounded logical enough to me. Taking the knife, I stabbed it into my own left hand, marveling when the grimace from pain never came. Blood flowed out again, but it had already been doing that, and it continued to not hinder me in the very slightest. It clatters to the ground, distorting and tearing open my hand even more, but I still don't care, I still continue to feel the nothingness.

"Someone's going to the funny farm!" Jackson laughs, staring at me with excitement in his amber colored eyes, "And no, it's not me this time, Leah!"

Leah rolls her eyes, smiling sweetly, "But it was last time, Jackson. And if I remember correctly, Griffin wanted to be the one to kill Seven anyways- he already missed his chance with the girl, so let him have the boy. Put Seven out of his misery, Griff-Griff!"

I chortle at the nickname, glad to see that District One doesn't look quite amused by his ally's antics. As always, a sword is in Griffin's hand; I bet he even cuddles with the weapon. But it's nothing compared to my beautiful axe, which I'm gripping in both hands, only slightly noticing the amount of bleeding coming from it. Neither of us are much for words, but I glare at him, and in return, the Career smirks at me; he's acting like he knows something that I don't. Well, it's really the other way around, as the pretty boy has no idea at all that I'm going to be the one to kill him, the one to finally get revenge for the death of my father.

Lunging towards him, my axe swinging towards his neck, I only strike open air. Frowning, an abnormal sensation is causing my hand to tingle, a feeling that I ignore, concentrating on the nothingness and hoping that it'll fade with time. Everything else had successfully faded away, so why should this be any different? Balance is proving to be a bit tricky right now, but I'm positive that I'm going to be able to kill Griffin Holloway; he's just another idiotic District One Tribute. Swinging my axe up vertically, it again meets open air, causing me to grit my teeth and try again and again and again.

"Stay still!" I scream, right when I realize that he's been predicting my movements, and thus moving accordingly.

My opponent merely shakes his head, whipping out his sword with lightening speed. For a brief second, I see it arching above my head, and I expect this to be the end. Instead, pain explodes through me, coloring my world with sensations once again; the nothingness, along with my right ear, is gone. More blood is flowing freely out of me, but Griffin doesn't dare to stop there, he keeps on going. Each slice of his sword is clean, chopping off bits and pieces of me until I can't stand it anymore, my knees buckling under the pain. Dimly, I'm aware that I'm still gripping my axe, that Axel and his axe are still fighting, but all I can think about is how wrong I was. How wrong I always was, and now, always will have been…

"Any last words?" Griffin says coolly, his sword poised at my throat.

_Ree…Bell…_ReeBell….Reebell….Rebell…Rebellion….Please Rebel…And now, when it's all too late do I finally understand that final message. But they have to show full coverage of the deaths, so with all the strength I can muster, I scream out that precious word, the message in disguise from someone I hated.

"Rebel!"

A moment later, Griffin puts an end to me, casting me back out into the nothingness forevermore…

_Adia Loya (16), District Thirteen Female-POV_

Right when the white parachute appears above me, the second cannon blast of the day goes off, almost scaring me senseless. Could Reina have died? No, she's much too smart to have gone out without a fight. After all, this is the fifth day that we've been in the arena, so that cannon could have belonged to just about anyone. It could have belonged to Jet…No, it couldn't have been Jet easier; he's got a trick or two up his sleeve, that much I'm sure of. What could it have been thought? Had he been training in the Capitol's army? Yet once again, that doesn't seem to fit as well, as I'd been the only one sneaking into those sessions. In fact, the Capitol might have noticed and Reaped me on purpose; regret slowly builds up inside of me at those thoughts.

The item sails down into my laps, and from the softness of it, I suspect that it's some sort of food item. Eagerly opening up the parcel, which doesn't come with a note, a warm loaf of bread sits in front of me. Baked just like the way it is back in District Thirteen, which draws a smile into my face. Hunger rolls through my stomach again, so I don't hesitate to rip off a tiny chunk, forcing myself to eat it slowly and carefully; I may not get another loaf sponsored for a while. Still, the taste is so much like what I've been missing that tears spring to my eyes. I've been missing my family a lot in the Hunger Games, more than I would have believed possible; all of the new drawings I'd done had been of them.

My father, training the army for the Capitol had been one of the first ones. No doubt that the Capitol had turned the cameras away, not wanting to let the Districts know about the things that they had been doing. Naturally, it would only make sense then for the army to be trained in the Capitol, not in District Thirteen; people in the Capitol didn't pride themselves on being very logical, it seems. But maybe they had done that on purpose, wanting another District to join the Career Pack, just like Obsidian and Vortexa had done during their Hunger Games. Jet and I, however, hadn't even walked over to the Careers and asked to join, meaning that there hadn't been any thoughts of recruiting us; Reina Vane is the only person that I would want for an ally.

Fabian and I are in my next drawing; there's several of them like that in this little book. The two of us had been the best of friends, a brilliant relationship that hadn't always been formed between siblings, yet I'm glad that it did. When my brother had found out that I snuck off to train with the Capitol army, he didn't even tell Dad about it, keeping it as our little secret. Only a true friend would do that for you, so I'm hoping that I'll be able to come home, that way I can tell Fabian how grateful I am for his actions. And if I did win, then I could use my money, blood money, to help him in his research, research to improve the conditions of the Districts of Panem. It's really the only thing that the money should be used for, as it would help out the families of the people who had died, people who had died without a need or cause for it. Because of that, the Capitol cannot be anything but horrible, twisted, and completely delusional in each way possible.

Eventually, only eight of us would be left in this arena, meaning that they'd start doing interviews with our family members. Would they be taken to the Capitol for them? Or done at the Justice Building? I've never really considered it before, as none of my friends or family had ever gone into the Hunger Games, with the exception of me. Hopefully, my family would be being interviewed soon enough, instead of being one of the four mourning families that find out that their child just didn't make it far enough. My father would feel terrible, no doubt, if I were to die and part of it because he too would suspect the unfair Reaping. The Capitol, in his mind, might have been handing out a punishment to him through me, for not training their soldiers hard enough. If there had been some way for me to tell him what actually happened, then I would do it, but any words on the army wouldn't ever make it to the television screen.

Abruptly, the Capitol anthem begins to play, signaling the end of yet another day in the arena. To me, it doesn't feel like nearly enough hours for it to have already begun, but the Gamemakers have been known to do if before. They're bound to have been getting bored, with only two deaths today, and none at all happening yesterday; the Careers have been very idle. I brace myself, worried if Reina's going to be shown soon, but the Capitol seal remains high up in the sky. Well, in this case, high up on the rocky ceiling, looking a bit distorted from the numerous stalactites staring down at us all. Hopefully nothing sends them all crashing down, as we'd be dead the minute they come into contact with our skulls; the Gamemakers probably have that planned though, I reflected sadly.

Wild red hair and icy blue eyes, the first face shown in the sky tonight is the one I had been dreading. Reina had died at some point today; I should have been there to help her. That's what allies are supposed to do for each other, but I had failed at that simple task, and now the entire nation of Panem would be watching her death. Mercifully, it looks as if it's a short one, but I school my expression, not wanting to look weak; they might have known that we were allies. Instead of feeling like crying, my resolve only strengthens, making me more and more determined to bring home another win for District Thirteen this year. Tightening my hands into fists, the next face shown is Axel Treefall, the moody boy from District Seven. No one else had died in the arena tonight, and since I didn't know Axel all too well, it's harder to not concentrate all on Reina and how I had failed to do what allies did for one another.

"Attention, Tributes!" the voice of the announcer, Aelius Templesmith, called out, "With only eleven of you remaining, and on the eve of the fifth day, the Capitol had decided to extend a generous invitation towards you. Tomorrow, a feast shall be held at the Cornucopia cavern, and do note that you will not want to decline this invitation lightly. Food will be provided, along with something each of you quite desire…Good night, the final eleven Tributes of the One Hundred and Seventy Fifth Hunger Games! As always, may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

* * *

**Cashmere Combe:**** Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

Griffin Holloway:

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

Malaya Finaca:

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle:**** Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette:**** Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

**Axel Treefall: Sliced into pieces with a Japanese Long Sword by Griffin Holloway (D1)**

**Willa Hellmans:** **Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

Tetra Comn:

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Axel Treefall: You were like the anti-Career of the 175****th**** Hunger Games, which limited you to certain things in your personality. Growing up the way you did had been hard, having all of the people you loved taken from you time and time again; people are bound to end up broken. While you weren't completely gone, you had as much charm as Katniss Everdeen, and just like the Mockingjay, you had someone that you desperately wanted to protect. Juniper Griffin, who you claimed to be your one true love, and they had to take her from you too. It drove you to insanity, the reason that I chose to have Griffin kill you; you would have become like Tetra had you carried on. But truly, you were an interesting character, loyal and protective, and very kind. You can be reunited with Juniper, Forest, and your parents, but don't think that we won't miss you; may you rest in peace. **

_Maya Eberhart received a loaf of bread and twine. Adia Loya received a loaf of bread. _


	36. The Feast

_Malaya Finaca (15), District Three Female-POV_

Just thinking about the feast announcement causes my heart to start hammering again, out of fear that the remaining Careers are going to make a special effort to behead me. Of course, they just had to make attending it practically mandatory; they'll have no trouble killing anyone who sticks behind. All the Gamemakers want is to provide the viewing audience with the most gruesome and dramatic show that they can possibly provide, so blood and gore is a must. My great-grandfather had been one of the last three Tributes because of a feast, a classic and overused attempt at making the number of Tributes dwindle. No matter how many times they announce one, people still have thrills of terror and excitement running up their arms, causing the Capitol people to feel goose bumps, and possibly cry when their favorite Tribute doesn't make it out alive.

Lying on the ground are my arnis sticks, somehow still looking as pristine as they were when someone had sponsored them to me. A shiver runs down my spine, thinking back to the horrifying Minotaur, the creature that had nearly taken my life. It had nearly killed Jet, too, but I hadn't seen him pictured at night yet. But with this being the sixth day, with a feast scheduled to take place, caution is going to be blown to the wind. Tons of people who had been hanging in for a while are going to meet a bloody end today; I may very well be one of them. Hastily picking up my weapons, as if they're going to be able to protect me from what's going to be happening in only a couple hours. In theory, they'd be able to, but I doubt that arnis sticks would be able to beat a sword in any type of fight.

The yellow lights turn brighter, signaling that the dawn of the new day has come. Swinging my supplies onto my back, I can't help but think of the food that would be provided for us. Mashed potatoes, steak, green beans, sausage, bacon, Capitol bread, grapefruit; all of it sent my head spinning. It had been a while since I'd been able to eat, as that boy from District Eleven had practically vanished from this maze of an arena, something that I found very peculiarly. None of the other Tributes were easy to swipe food off of, and since the sponsors thought that I'd be able to fend for myself, no aid had come to me. Provided that I'd be able to take any, as Tributes have camped out inside of the Cornucopia before, like a phenomenal girl from District Five did in a very old Hunger Games. I wouldn't have put that past the sly girl from District Six, Maya, who probably had a couple of tricks up her sleeve as well.

"Might as well go…," I mumble under my breath, looking uncertainly behind me.

No killer mutations appear yet, and neither does any life saving parachutes. Whatever is going to go down in a couple of minutes, it seems like everyone has already been notified of my choice before I had been. A slight sigh escapes, probably being seen by all of my sponsors and the entire country of Panem. Schooling my features to radiate determination, as to not eliminate any cash flow, I move quietly towards the metal door. It clicks open almost instantly, letting me know that the feast is going to be starting very soon, at dawn, just like Aelius Templesmith had informed us last night. Ten other Tributes are waiting outside of their own doors, with about half of them going out for blood, with the food not being their number one priority. Quickly, my mind races to remember exactly who is still left in the fight. Three Careers, the girl from Six, both from Eleven…both from Thirteen, myself, the little girl from Ten, and…the boy from Five; only two of those would be easy to fight.

Peeking around the door, hoping that no one would be able to see me, the Cornucopia cavern looks immaculate again. Void of weapons, the shinny horn sits dead center, surrounded by twenty five pedestals, as Abe, the boy from District Eight, had fallen off of his during the countdown. Rocks and minerals are scattered all around, making me wish that I had a paid a bit more attention in science class back in District Three, but it's all too late right now. Still, a feeling of being polished again is about the cavern, as the blood that would have resulted from the very start of the Hunger Games had been removed, without a single trace being left behind. Only the dead, picture evidence, and witnesses would be able to tell the story that had happened here, six days ago, now.

Unlike before, two glass tables are set up, one on either side of the Cornucopia. Fortunately, the one laden with food is closer to me, as that's my primary goal for this mission. But recalling the words of Aelius, that there would be something here that we all would desire, the foreboding in that phrase isn't something that I'll be able to shake off easily. Tiny little backpacks are all that sit on the other glass table, and by craning my neck a little bit, there's one for each Tribute, marked by gender and District number. Though I really did want to eat my fill of the food, I can't help but wonder if I'm going to need the contents of that bag to make it to the finale; according to Aelius, that morbid thought is all too correct. And when it comes to the Hunger Games, the Capitol seldom lies; they enjoy all too much seeing the looks of fear on the faces of the Tributes.

"FREE FOOD! KAH-KAH!" someone screams, bursting out of the door, making a beeline for the apple cobbler.

Black hair pulled back into a ponytail, the tiny number on the sleeve identifies her easily. Blood covers her body, looking dried and old; it probably didn't even belong to her. The Hunger Games had turned Tetra Comn into a deranged, serial killer, and by the looks of it, they hadn't had much trouble to do it to start with. Bow slung over her shoulder, I can see Tetra about to spring, when a panic begins to arise through me. Not very much of that food would survive if the Tribute tackled the table, meaning that hunger would continue to take hold on me, forcing a plea to the sponsors for support. There's no way that I'm going to let myself need to survive off of their pockets, as I'd been training for the Hunger Games for a while, and it's the reliant Tributes that get killed off first.

Taking a deep breath, my arnis sticks in hand, I plunged forward into the cavern. Tetra's blue eyes widened, surprised as I tackled her to the ground, almost running into the illustrious table, laden with the fine delicacies of the Capitol. Jerking towards the right, I narrowly miss being punched in the face, releasing the arnis sticks in my hand. My weapons clatter to the floor, being swept out of mind and out of sight, as I see more and more Tributes running out into the fray. A blur of red hair goes by, and a quick recap of all the female Tributes narrows it down to that little girl from District Ten, Wednesday Vespers. About to swing out my legs to trip her, a blow to my jaw leaves me dazed, wondering what had happened; Tetra hadn't been fighting back very much so far.

Another blow quickly follows up from the first one, the dark haired girl straddling me with a sadistic smile. In my head, the grappling instructor is telling me what to do, exactly how to get out of this situation. However, the only problem is that the words are muffled, making them completely unintelligible, and thus, it doesn't help my situation at all. Concentrating onto situations that we similar to this from before, the main thing that sticks out to me is the placing of my hands. Currently, they're flailing and shaking, being slightly pinned, and not useful to block the numerous blows to the head that Tetra is sending my way. A pounding ache starts to resonate, letting me know that I'll need to find a way out of this situation fast, or risk having my life being taken by the District Eleven Tribute.

"This is fun!" Tetra jeers, "Time for a hair cut! Wouldn't you like that, Miss Ugly?"

She brandishes a short knife, which the fumbling around with it tells me that Tetra isn't quite experienced with the weapon. In fact, a slap from my hand sends it flying across the room, clattering to the ground like my arnis sticks had done minutes ago. The clattering noise sends a flashback to my mind, allowing the instructor's words to make sense in my head, giving hope that I'll be able to beat the bloodthirsty Tribute. Struggling some more with her, barely keeping Tetra from swinging towards me again with her vicious right hook, I slap the ground with my right hand. Placing my foot on the outside of her, I jerk my body upwards, shaking the hold of the District Eleven Tribute. Blue eyes widen again, with the addition of a bird like screech, as we tumble over.

"What was that you were saying?" I asked, feeling confident.

Tetra growls at me, attempting to throw a jab, but it's blocked carelessly. Straddling the girl, the bow and arrows are easy to pry off of her, adding a new weapon to my collection. Palm heeling Tetra in the jaw, a satisfying crack sounds, letting me know that I managed to break something. Unfortunately, she manages to hold onto life, looking bewildered and frightened, letting out a series of strangled cries, along with a couple of elaborate swears. I glance around quickly, noting how the food had somehow survived the fray, but a bit of it had been picked away evidently. Only a couple of the packs remained on the other tables, with Tributes fighting left and right; there wouldn't be enough time for me to continue to fight off Tetra Comn. Muttering under my breath, a ridge-hand strike to the throat, all I can think of is hope that it had been enough to keep Tetra down for the count.

Springing upwards, my eyes widen as only one of the backpacks on the table remains; District Three Female adorns it in neat handwriting. Quickly, I take off at a run towards it, avoiding the knife that Leah Dagger, one of the Careers, throws precisely towards me. A couple more follow my way, with a tiny one lodging itself into my leg, but I force myself to keep on running. The wound is only going to get worse when I remove it anyways, so there isn't a single pause to stop and pull it out either. Little bits of gravel end up finding their way into my shoes, annoying, but the tiny hand of a Tribute grasping the bag is enough to keep me going. Wednesday, the little girl from District Ten, is making away with my backpack. The dull black bag is neatly swung over her shoulder, with another one hanging loosely off of her arm; no one else seems to take notice of her.

"No….," I whisper, skidding to a halt as Wednesday swings her mace into the boy from District Eleven, creating a large gash on his back.

Already, I'd underestimated the girl, meaning that my chances of succeeding in a fight had been lowered instantly; it was one of the first things that people learn when watching the Hunger Games. The District Ten Tribute smiles maliciously, knowing that she had taken my backpack, which very well could mean the difference between life and death in the arena. My hand tightens on the bow, running down a list of several options, thinking about how I would be able to stop her. Looking downwards at it, a couple of the arrows aren't completely smashed, surviving the fight that had occurred only minutes ago. Raising my hand, making sure that my aim is sure, everything seems to melt away. Metal shines dully, the fine tip of the arrow, and it's free of any blood for the moment being; Wednesday's will cover it soon enough. A deep breath serves to steady me more, to push away any feelings of regret, as I smoothly release the arrow without a single flaw. Zooming towards the target, the arrow is sadly not a direct hit to the heart, instead imbedding itself into Wednesday's neck.

Accusing teal eyes stare towards me, not quite believing that I had been able to harm her. The young girl stumbles only a bit, though I can tell that the breathing has become far more difficult for Wednesday, resulting in one of the bags dropping to the floor. No one deserves to have to live like that, to die in pain and agony, especially at such a young age. The Capitol had twisted and demented her through the Hunger Games; it probably wasn't Wednesday's fault that she ended up like that. Stringing another arrow, I'm determined to put her out of her misery, but the red haired girl disappears out of the cavern before I am able to. Only a slight sigh manages to escape me, before I sprint towards the fallen backpack and scoop it up; whatever is inside of it had better be worth it. Almost all thoughts of going after the delicacies have escaped my mind, mainly at what the Capitol had forced me to do.

Upon Volunteering for the Hunger Games, all I had been thinking of was proving that you didn't need to be beautiful. That being pretty didn't matter in the real world and that everyone had been taking too much stock into it; becoming the Victor looked like a pretty good way to prove that. But now, all that I've proved is that you don't need to be good looking to be a murderer; after all, I just murdered Wednesday Vespers…

I just murdered a little kid…

_Griffin Holloway (17), District One Male-POV_

Earlier, Leah, Jackson, Wednesday and I all agreed that this would be the last battle of the Career Alliance. With only eleven Tributes left in the Hunger Games, it's all too likely that we'll be down to the final eight in a moment's notice. If we didn't split up then, it would ensure that it would be down to the four of us, making the last battle hard and bloody. Well, for Leah, Jackson, and Wednesday that is, as I'm sure that I'll have no trouble at all in taking each and every one of them down. Especially the little girl, who Leah added only so we wouldn't have to guard our camp; I still don't trust her. There's a certain gleam in those wicked teal eyes that set me off, that cause me to wonder what she's up to, and just how many people are going to die from whatever trap Wednesday's been setting. Something must have given Wednesday motivation to keep in on the Career Alliance, otherwise, I'm pretty sure that we never would have found Cashmere's killer in the very first place.

Malaya, the traitor, rushes out from behind one of the numerous steel girls, tackling Tetra, the insane District Eleven Tribute, to the ground. From the looks of it, Tetra's pretty much is going to totally dominate right about now, meaning that I'd have to break them up if I wanted to add her to my kill list. But then again, that boy from District Five should be showing up soon enough; I think I'll get him first. Elezar Brewen should have not been allowed in any way to outscore me, a Career who has been training for the Hunger Games for as long as I can remember. That boy hasn't even picked up a weapon in his whole lifetime, I suspect, and only entered the Hunger Games willingly for the free food. All in all, Elezar is no doubt living a pathetic and useless existence; it'll be my pleasure to eradicate him thoroughly. To feel his skull crushed beneath mine, my palms covered in his sticky and worthless blood, and to hear his final screams of mercy. A smirk works its way onto my face, thinking of the show that I'll surely be able to provide for the Capitol, the reason that such a divine choice of weaponry had been provided at the Cornucopia. Datura Gremlin herself must have recognized my natural prowess, deciding that the mystical golden Long Sword is a befitting weapon for one of my caliber.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the form of Jackson disappear out of the cavern. Carrying only his sword, without a precious backpack or a supply of food, he's immediately counted out of the Hunger Games in my book. No supplies mean certain death, as more Tributes die from infection and starvation than from a deadly foe. A sad statistic, but not one that is going to apply to me in any way at all, and probably not whoever Jackson had been chasing. That boy never had a strong head on his shoulders, preferring to joke around and sprint after the prey than take out the Tributes right in front of him. Once again, I reflect on the likelihood of him living any longer without the aid of Leah, Wednesday, and I, though it's a miracle that he managed to stay alive longer than Cashmere. District One's only hopes for winning resided on my all too capable shoulders, something that I honestly hadn't expected to happen this early in the Hunger Games. Cashmere hadn't looked like someone who could have been beat up by a twelve year old, though I guess that it must have happened for a reason; at least I didn't have to be the one to take her out. Each District in Panem frowns upon that type of behavior, though in some cases, they accept that it had ended up being required even if they weren't all too happy about it.

Impatiently, I run over to the glass table that's covered in food. Most of it is kept in stainless steel bowls, stuff like pudding and gravy, which isn't very good for running around in an arena with. As I dodge a particularly nasty kick from Tetra, my eyes land on a loaf of bread, the kind that's baked with nuts inside of it. It's probably going to be the most filling out of everything, so I grab it quickly, shoving it into the bag of supplies I had taken from the Cornucopia supplies; I, unlike Jackson, actually planned ahead. Still, that didn't mean that the fine cut steak didn't look tempting at all, and as Elezar hadn't yet shown up in the cavern, I figured that it would be all right. Reaching forward for the juicy steak, intent on wolfing down the protein rich food in the midst of all of the fighting, the unexpected happens right now. Appearing out of nowhere is the shaft of an arrow, landing itself right where my hand had been moments ago.

Eyes narrowed, I scan around the cavern for my potential attacker, but no one seems to appear. Malaya and Tetra aren't rolling on the ground anymore; in fact, both of them have seemingly vanished. A slight trail of blood leads off to the left, probably Malaya's, and grows larger the more that time goes on. That must have been some catfight, but upon thinking back to it, Tetra had been equipped with a bow and arrows. Could she have been the one to shoot at me? Pondering this, my hand goes closer and closer to the steak, the latter being bloody and almost irresistible; I haven't had proper food in a week. Outlying Districts only have that slight advantage on us, as I do admit that we Careers don't really know how to be hungry, but with the plethora of food at our hands, it doesn't quite affect us in the very slightest. Only years where the Careers hadn't done a good job of protecting it had that occurred, a problem that Leah had solved by hiring Wednesday; it still doesn't make me trust the little ginger in the very slightest. Scanning across the cavern again, the fights are starting to slow down, with the only other major fight happening between the District Six girl and Tetra.

Where in the world is Elezar? He should have been here minutes ago, not minutes later. The only other person that I'll be able to take my rage out on is Tetra, who's having the time of her life, being beaten up by the District Six Tribute. Turning my focus to that fight, I can't help but smile slightly as Maya bites Tetra's hand, causing the District Eleven Tribute to release her choke hold. Followed up with a head butt, the already bleeding and bruised Tetra lets out a cry of anguish; Malaya must have been the one to come out on top then, I remember. Maya's eyes seem slightly unfocused, probably because that technique isn't the most favorable one to be used in combat situations, and even frowned upon by the trainers at the Capitol; it's only used for last resorts, as the damage to you could be fatal at times. But that doesn't stop Maya, as she springs out a cruel looking dagger, stabbing Tetra's throat several times, only stopping when the sound of a cannon is heard. There goes my chance of taking out a person with one of the top training scores, or her killer, as Maya quickly dashes off with a backpack full of food, supplies, and whatever else the Gamemakers had provided for us at the feast; I hadn't bothered to pay attention to those little bags yet.

"Jet!" a girl calls out, "This way, come on!"

Drawing my attention, I watch the two fleeing Tributes, more and more worried that by waiting for Elezar I'm missing out on the rest of the prey. The boy Tribute, that one from District Thirteen with the low score and high skills, is clutching his eye; someone must have jabbed it. Once again, I found myself smirking at how much easier a Tribute is to kill blind, and how much better it's going to be for Alura when I get back home to District One. Adia Loya, Jet's District Partner, has an arrow sticking out of her shoulder, looking identical to the one that had been aimed at my hand; a sharp shooter is among us somewhere in here. Both of those Tributes are definitely slotted into the prey category, even if they each have a backpack hanging off of their backs, filled with whatever the Gamemakers had thought we'd need desperately later on. It's rather cliché to word it that way, as I'm pretty sure they do it just about each year, and it never does turn out to be true. And after all, I'm going to be the one who wins the Hunger Games anyways.

Turning my head to the side, I see a dark skinned face looking directly at me. I barely have time to comprehend the situation before it's too late, the Japanese Long Sword being swung up uselessly in an attempt to protect myself. Sitting up in a cluster of rocks, hidden better than anyone else could have done in this arena, is Persei Baxwoll, the District Partner of Tetra Comn. Just like a sniper, his aim has been exact, a fact that I wish I would have thought of sooner. The only thing I can do is watch as the arrow sails towards me, faster and faster, as everything else feels as if it's moving in slow motion. Thoughts and faces flash through my mind, though the searing image of the crossbow takes center stage, probably like the weapon that killed Dragon had done in his Hunger Games, but it wasn't exactly like I would be able to ask him.

What was Alura thinking right now? Did she understand that I'm about to die, to be killed by the little kid from District Eleven? Even as I feel the shaft plunge into my heart, the dead center target that Persei had been aiming for the entire time, it doesn't quite feel like I'm going to die. Griffin Holloway, a name designed to strike fear into the hearts of others, is going to die a pitiful and boring death during the Hunger Games; there's no honor attached to this at all, I realize. The entire time, people have been thinking what a great opportunity it is to come to the Capitol, to bathe in all of the luxury and adoration for about a week. Vaguely, I'm aware that someone has screamed out my name, probably Leah, as I don't remember seeing Jackson or Wednesday come back inside of the Cornucopia area. If they did, would Persei have shot at them instead of me? Probably not, I realized sadly, as I must have been the largest contender from his point of view…Persei would have a family as well, another group of people cheering him on, hoping that he'll be the one to return and that I'll be the one to die…

My mother had died, telling me to win the Hunger Games when I turned eighteen. I grimace, partially because of my failure, but mainly because of the extreme pain it's taking to hold on this long. If I hadn't been so insistent on fighting this fate, than my own cannon would have gone off already; somehow, I'm aware that it's only been two seconds since I was shot. Now, I'd never be able to fulfill the vow that I had made to my mother, the vow to become a celebrated murderer of children. No longer able to breath, another second has gone by, and I feel myself go slack; it's all over for me.

Persei's family may very well get their wish now…

_Malaya Finaca (15), District Three Female-POV_

Rounding around the corner, the sound of childlike sobs reaches my ear. There's only one Tribute in the arena that would be able to make those noises, as Persei's already reached puberty, and I'm the next youngest. My feet carry me towards her even faster, wondering how Wednesday has managed to cling to life for so long; no one else would have been able to do it. The only things on her had been that mace and the backpack, meaning that there wouldn't have been any bandages there for her to patch up the wound, her only chance of making it any longer in this arena. Why would anyone want to sponsor the wounded little girl from District Ten? Puzzling me, the thoughts are driven out of my mind as I see her, weaponless somehow, and curled up into a little ball.

"Wednesday?" I whisper, hoping that none of the Careers would be around, so I could simply put her out of her misery.

My arrow is missing from her neck, something that I don't register, as I stare into the puffy eyes. An endless amount of tears are flowing out of them, and from the slight shaking in her hands, I instantly know that I misjudged the little girl; she isn't a murderer in disguise at all. Teal eyes are almost constructed out of fear, little ringlets of red hair escaping the ponytail they had been efficiently pulled into earlier in the Hunger Games. All of my feelings of regret hit me at once, like a sledgehammer taken full force to the head, and it leaves my knees feeling weak and wobbly. Collapsing to the ground in front of Wednesday, all I can do is hold out my arms, intending for her to take shelter from the world in them; it's the very least I can do for the dying little girl.

"R-R-Rock me…," Wednesday stutters, burying her head into my chest.

Nodding, I dully commence and do just that, the back of my mind keeping tabs on the sounds of fighting. Someone screams out a name, Griffin, I think, but it's quickly forgotten by me. Because of a point that I had to make, this little girl is going to suffer to death, and if it wasn't for me stopping, Wednesday would have died all alone; that fate wouldn't be wished upon anyone. Time is evidently passing, yet again; it doesn't seem to have an effect on my grief filled self. A family is out there waiting for her, and because of the Hunger Games, they'd never get to see her come home again; I've forgotten about how Wednesday maimed without a second thought already.

"It's going to be okay, Wednesday…," I soothe, pulling the hair out of her eyes, "I'll be with you until the end…"

Mentally, I can't help but wince at my slight mistake. If the Careers come this way, there's no doubt in my mind that I would leave her instantly. They know that I've been at the feast, as I recall Griffin being nearby during my brawl with Tetra, and curiously, he didn't interfere in it at all. Not even Leah, who had been throwing knives left and right, perched on top of the Cornucopia, had even taken aim at me. Whenever the Career Pack behaves like that, it must mean that they have a horrible death in store for me, something that a tingling feeling on my spine tells me has already been planned. But of course, it is only common sense to think of it that way, as it has been six days since I ditched the alliance.

"Yes, you will…," Wednesday agrees, interrupting my thoughts, pulling her face out of my chest and drying her tears on her sleeve, "It's not smart to betray the Careers, and you should have known that, little Miss Ugly…"

"How…?" I choke out; trying to pull away from the little girl, but it's much too late.

Flinging a tiny but deadly knife out of her sleeve, all I have time to do it scream. The blade is dug into my chest, painfully as always, and it pierces my lungs; breathing is useless as of now. Hot tears go down my face, as I am screaming louder, pleading for mercy as Wednesday twists the blade. Somehow, she's been able to figure out exactly how to kill someone; the thought briefly crosses my mind that she had learned from watching years and years of the Hunger Games. Yanking the knife out painfully, all I'm able to do it gurgle in reply, feeling my vision start to swim, and my entire body feels as if it's made out of lead. Weakly, I try to lift up my hand, but a slice of the knife stops all efforts instantly. All I want is to die right now, but Wednesday doesn't allow that, continuing on with the torture…It feels like the knife has entered my a thousand times, each of them causing a burning pain that only grows stronger, never quite fading; this is what death, I find, feels like.

"Nighty-night, Maya Finaca of District Three," Wednesday jeers, gracing me with more words as she brings down the blade one last time.

Even though I want to spit back that my name is Malaya, the strength to do so continues to avoid me, casting me into the mercy of the vicious little girl. Sadly, I can tell that there's no way that I'm going to be able to go home now, that there's no way that my abusive family is going to be able to understand what I've been trying to tell them for so many years. As I feel the knife sink into my heart, the entire world blurs and stops moving as I'm sent into an endless sleep…A dreamless sleep that I already know I'll never wake up from…

**Cashmere Combe:**** Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Griffin Holloway: Shot with an arrow by Persei Baxwoll (D11)**

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

**Malaya Finaca: Tortured and stabbed in the heart with a knife by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle:**** Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette:**** Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

**Axel Treefall: Sliced into pieces with a Japanese Long Sword by Griffin Holloway (D1)**

**Willa Hellmans:** **Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

**Tetra Comn: Head butted and then stabbed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

**Griffin Holloway: Out of the remaining Careers, you must have been the hardest one to kill. Determined and strong, there practically had been no reason that you shouldn't be able to return home alive, to finally fulfill the vow that you had made for your dying mother. A master of swords, with a scary name, several of the other Tributes were indeed frightened of you. But putting the Games aside, I found that you felt truly alive and real to me when thinking about Alura, your little sister. That bound isn't one that everyone could have with their siblings, and not to mention, still be the fearsome leader of the Career Pack. Alura needed you to be her father and you were able to do that, even going into the Hunger Games so you two could have a glory filled life. While your intentions were good, it's because of your arrogance that Persei hit you with that arrow; you were just too impatient to pay attention to the little details, and it cost you your life. Alura, your father, and I will be missing you a lot, but have fun with Dragon and your mother in the afterlife; may you rest in peace. **

**Tetra Comn: When my friend and I came up with you, crazy is the key word that we had thought of. Murdering your parents as a child, thinking that your enemies were your best friends, and having MPD didn't help you at all in that situation. But in the end, it's wrong to label you that way, as it's a serious disorder that caused you to behave that way; people shouldn't judge you because of it. Tetra, you'd been a contender in the Hunger Games, until you adopted a wild persona and went flying around the arena, like a killer bird might have. Harming Tributes left and right, MPD is the thing to blame, even if Maya had been the one to take you out. But as you loved to fight, that's the way that I had you go out, kicking and screaming like only you were able to do. No one blames you for what you've done, Tetra, and I hope that you'll have fun flying up in the clouds; may you rest in peace. **

**Malaya Finaca: Really, you should have gone farther in the Hunger Games than you ended up doing. Wrestling with Tetra, shooting down Wednesday, the word 'epic' is the only thing that can really fit you right about then. So many things came your way, but you batted them all down like one would do a fly, or a Minotaur in your case. After grabbing the bag and some food, you'd ended up running out the same way Wednesday had done, already feeling guilty over the painful death you thought you'd gave the little girl. The thing is, Malaya, she had sponsors that leapt forward at the chance to send in a bandage, something you hadn't been able to notice right then. Trying to comfort the little girl had been your downfall, but don't be too hard on yourself. The message that you had died for is a great one, "You don't need to be pretty." All in all, you were a large contender in the Hunger Games, and tons of people will be shocked at your death. If you had avoided the Careers from the very start, you may have been able to live, but no one is going to be able to know for sure. We'll all miss your dearly, Malaya; may you rest in peace. **

**Check out the sponsor section of my website, for some pretty neat stuff I'll be adding in a bit for you guys to look at! Also, the poll is going to be changed, with the questions moved somewhere else. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and we're now at the final eight! I'm so excited!**

_**What would you like to do to the Careers in the 175**__**th**__** Hunger Games?**_

**1). Send them "How to win the Hunger Games: For Dummies" with 5 votes**

**2). Anything that has to do with Griff-Griff Hallway and THIS. IS. SPARTA. With 4 votes**

**3). Replace them with Aunt Shorrie with 2 votes**

**4). Hit them on the head for sitting around all day and I like dinosaur toys with 1 vote**

**5). Send them a cake with no votes**

_Wednesday Vespers received a small bandage _


	37. Day Three through Six: Family Reactions

**So, I tried to get 500 words for each family, but no one (alive) really cared about Reina, Tetra, or Axel, so I wrote a poem about them instead…I should have done that for Josh as well, since it was rather difficult to write his family reaction as no one cared either…"Sexy Naughty Bitchy Me" is a great song to listen to whenever you think of Willa, as it's her theme song!**

**District One: Holloway Family**

Bouncing up and down the stairs, Alura still remains in the puffy blue dress from before. Curls cascade everywhere, unkempt and neglected ever since her brother, Griffin, had left to go off to the Capitol. But of course, in her little head, Alura's father went on a grand trip and would be back soon enough; she didn't know how wrong she was about that simple fact. And so for days, Alura had giggled and played with her best friends, chatting and gossiping while the older kids watched the television sets with bated breath. They too didn't understand it in the slightest, also thinking that Griffin had left on some important duty and would return soon enough with the most fabulous jewels. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires; the very thought sent the heads of the little girls spinning.

"Ally-Cat," Stelle called out, running around in a similar jade colored dress, "Wanna play Hunger Games?"

Being the mayor's daughter, little Stelle Pristine had everything handed to her in life. Having voluminous blonde curls, and soft jade green eyes, people were certain that she'd grow up to be a natural beauty. Certainly, they'd have Stelle training to compete in the beloved Hunger Games as soon as she grew able to. Because of this, Mayor Pristine encourage Stelle to play Hunger Games with Alura, and bailed them out at school with the game grew out of hand. Of course, neither of them knew that Griffin had gone off to play Hunger Games as well, or that because of his loss, he would never be seen back home in District One again. Being the elder of Alura by one year, Stelle didn't know that she'd be destined to enter the Hunger Games as well; her fate is a mystery to us all as well.

"Sure, Stelle-Belle!" Alura replies, her pale face breaking out into a wide grin, "Lemme go see if Ti-Ti is home yet though!"

Kicking off the six inch heels, the same color as her oversized gown, Alura raced down the carpeted staircase. Dark ringlets flying behind her, sparkled silver from the little makeup session her and Stelle had staged earlier, Alura tried to locate her father. Mr. Holloway, or Granny-Pa as young Alura dubbed him, was staring at the screen with an expression of shock. Flashing letters were in bold print, beneath two well known Capitol citizens who were discussing the Hunger Games. Upon hearing the word of her favorite game, Alura squealed in delight, forgetting all about Stelle and bounced into her father's lap.

"Granny-pa!" Alura trilled, curling up like a cat might do, "They like to play Hunger Games in the Capitol too?"

Mr. Holloway nodded solemnly, wondering how he would be able to break the news to Alura. The news that once again, a member of the Holloway family had died in the Hunger Games, leaving his heart ever a little bit more broken. His wife had died recently, leaving only Griffin and Alura for him to love and cherish. But because his son had to break the vow, the most sacred one a person could make, he now was only left with his daughter. Feeling heartbroken isn't something that Mr. Holloway was used to feeling, but now, he knew that the duty to win the Hunger Games would fall onto Alura's petite shoulders. All he could do is hope that she would learn from her brothers' errors, to not be like Dragon and Griffin, and return home safely to him.

"Yes…," Mr. Holloway stated, "When you're twelve, they'll let you go and play it too."

Alura grinned, not knowing that just like Stelle, her fate had just been sealed as well.

**District Three: Finaca Family**

Nimmo Finaca didn't often visit his grandparents in Victors Village; so on this occasion, he made it his duty to explore the entire house. Each nook and cranny demanded to be cataloged in his perfectionist ways, the same way that the girls at school fawned over his charming good looks. His hair happened to be a shade similar to Malaya's, but the color was dark enough that it contrasted with his skin. Leaving it playfully spiked, girls loved to run their hands through it, commenting on how lovely it looked and how soft it would always feel. None of them ever released that Nimmo spent half an hour each day combing it, with another half hour dedicated to washing it with the rose scented shampoo, special ordered from the stylists of the Capitol.

_"Ah, looks like the Feast is finished folks. We'll be interviewing the final-"_

Turning his head ever so slightly to the right, the familiar hum of the television set vanished, letting Nimmo know that someone had decided to turn it off. Peculiar, but not something worthy of going to explore, as his grandparents are probably gushing about how wonderful Malaya is doing in the Hunger Games. Honestly, Nimmo couldn't stand his younger sister, thinking of her as the same ugly beast that his parents do; in his mind, Malaya must have been adopted, as there's no way that they could have been related. Then again, his grandfather had bucked teeth, and Nimmo's were a pristine white color all of the time. Shaking his head ever so slightly, as to not disturb the carefully done comb job, Nimmo tried to shake the oddities in his life out of his head.

Jordana Cable sat in one of the comfy chairs, spending more time with the Finaca family ever since Malaya had left to compete in the Hunger Games. Out of sadness for her friend, Jordana had neglected to brush her bushy brown hair, looking horrid against her pale skin. But that didn't matter for Jordana, even if Nimmo insisted on making hurtful remarks towards her appearance; Malaya wasn't around for him to insult anymore. With wide eyes, Jordana stared at the blank screen, being the one to turn it off and stop watching the Hunger Games, something that Peacekeepers would punish her for if they ever did find out. Jordana's best friend has just died in the Hunger Games, but to make it worse, Mr. and Mrs. Finaca didn't even seem to care one bit.

"How can you just sit there?!" Jordana questioned, looking through puffy eyes at the blank faced Mr. and Mrs. Finaca, "Your daughter just died! Don't you care?!"

Granny looked expectantly towards them, hoping that they would care this one time. She'd raised her child to be a lover, not a fighter, and from the vacant expressions, all she could think of is how much she failed. These people weren't really family for Malaya, and had her granddaughter won the Hunger Games, they would have surely taken advantage of the poor girl. Feeling rage unlike any other, Granny did the one thing she had always thought of doing, but never had the courage to do; she stuck up from Malaya.

"Get out," Granny stated boldly; looking at Nimmo and his parents, "You're no longer welcome here anymore."

**District Four: Howards Family**

Out on the little boat, Stuart and Mr. Howards have every intent of making it back to shore before nightfall hits. Nets full of fish, young Stuart has managed to put on another pound or two, all because Fialla isn't present to eat her fill anymore. No one in the Howards family dares to mention it, even if all of them are thinking it, including Aunt Shorrie. But still, that doesn't prevent the two males from fishing in the same catch as they always do, and sighing slightly as the now smaller family manages to eat all of the scraps. Profits from market remain to be the same, and with the death of Nicolas Riddle, it's guaranteed that District Four's hopes reside on the shoulders of Fialla. The shoulders of a disabled girl, one who zones out into the world of make believe, and thinks that her Prince Charming is going to come.

Around midnight, _La Bucephalus _pulls into the tiny fishing port of District Four. Other sailors, setting out for the journey of the next day, sent sympathetic glances towards the father and son. They already had learned of what happened, of the death that Fialla had suffered from the hands of Reina Vane. But of course, Stuart and his father didn't manage to put two and two together, just assuming that they were the usual sad looks. People had pitied the family ever since Fialla left for the Capitol, already knowing that the only Howards daughter had been doomed to a horrible fate; deep down, Mr. Howards had already accepted the fact as truth. While Stuart, he spent his days in a daze, hoping that the sister, the one who he never truly knew, would be able to come home.

Carrying in a barrel full of fish, it's about an hour later that Stuart and Mr. Howards arrive at the tiny residence. On most nights, Aunt Shorrie and the others are all sleeping, their fingers aching from the knot work they do for a majority of the day. Those nets serve the pair well on the seas, but the family also sells them to other fishermen, earning enough for the meager loaf of bread the Howards eat each and every day. Yet without Fialla, the amount produced had been cut down severely, causing Aunt Shorrie and Mr. Howards to grow more and more worried. If Fialla somehow won the Hunger Games, all of the work wouldn't need to be done, as the family would be well provided for in the extravagant Victors Village houses.

"Ervin…," Aunt Shorrie calls out, sitting on the same rocking chair that Fialla would always trip over so often, "It's Fialla…she's….she's…"

Mr. Howards nods gravely towards his sister, already knowing the news that Aunt Shorrie just couldn't bring herself to speak. Turning his attention to Stuart, whose eyes are locked onto the paused television screen, it's evident that the young boy already knows what has happened. Fialla isn't going to be coming home, as she died in the Hunger Games that very day; all Aunt Shorrie can do is blame herself. If she hadn't told Fialla to Volunteer, then maybe her niece would still be alive today…Just maybe…

**District Five: Poem for Reina Vane**

_Curls of amber_

_Eyes of ice_

_And heart of gold_

_Fear encircled _

_Hope forgotten_

_A soldier's death_

_No tears for a hero_

_Let go all too easily_

_Left all alone in a maze of terror_

_Buried beneath the crystalline snow_

_Your days were numbered_

_Your dreams suppressed_

_Your nightmares made real_

_And your image destroyed_

_A hollow shell had been left behind_

_Devoid of life_

_With no chance to shine_

**District Seven: Griffin Family**

Out of mourning for his youngest child, Mr. Griffin closed the factory for that day, allowing all of the workers to go home and spend more time with their families. Everything had happened for Mr. Griffin so fast, leaving him spinning in circles, and just not able to run the rather important factory. Funders in the Capitol hopefully would understand, Mr. Griffin thought, as a good number of them had probably been sponsoring Juniper or that Willa girl, her murderer. While before he hadn't minded the other Districts, being thankful for twelve other sets of people who felt the same burdens as he did, now felt certain feelings unrest towards the people of District Eight. A good number of Mr. Griffin's clothing came from there, including the wedding dress for Lilac, his now only daughter, but they now resided in the fireplace. Anything that had to do with Juniper's murderer had been tossed out, overlooked, and never saw again; Mr. Griffin didn't even watch the video of the birthday party Clark Hallen threw for the twins, his now adopted children.

Lilac Griffin, the nineteen year old sister of Juniper, sits alone in her childhood bedroom. Pink hues cover all of the surfaces, with a cushy rug being the only thing that sticks out, in a forest green color; it had belonged to her grandmother. Stuffed animals cover the bed, hiding behind the faint white drapery that Lilac had found to be princess like as a young child. Everything in here reminds her of a time when all was well, when she didn't have to worry about or mourn Juniper, her one and only sister. Not even Carlisle Perthshire, Lilac's fiancé, could have been able to make things feel all right at a time like this. Wistfully, she can't help but yearn for those days, when her sister would request to play fairy princess together. Looking towards the closest, a patterned pink dress stares back at her, nearly causing Lilac to burst into tears; it had been one of Juniper's all time favorites.

"I miss you…," Lilac mumbles, smoothing out the baby blue skirt that she had worn today, "Wh-Why did you have to go…?"

Silence rings through the air, giving no answer to the grieving girl's question. Wind continues to rustle through the open window, causing the light pink wind chimes to clink together, as if they're trying to cheer Lilac up. But it proceeds to be useless, as soundless tears are soon flowing, marring the perfect makeup of the rich girl. Never before had Lilac Griffin, soon to be Lilac Perthshire, experienced sadness such as this. Pondering on her sister's final moments, she remembers screaming with Juniper as Willa stabbed the girl, and seeing the fury ignite in Axel's eyes. Carlisle and Axel would have gotten along rather well, she suspected, even though it will have been too late to tell now. A piece of paper is blown free by the wind, flying across the room, until it then lands in the lap of Lilac. Sighing ever so slightly, prepared for another round of the emotional onslaught, Lilac lifts up the faded writing.

_ Dear Sissy, _

_ Today is the Reaping ceremony for the Hungry GAmes. I wanted Da-Da to hElp me make yu something very special! He wont spell check it, but i think that i got everyting rite. Yu see, bad tings only happen to bad people, and i think that yu is a very goood person…Noting bad is gonna happen to yu, SiSsy, i promise. May da odds be eder in yur faver! _

_ Happy Hungry GamES, luv,_

_ JuniPer G riffin :) _

Upon rereading the childhood letter, the mental walls that Lilac had been trying to build crumble. She hadn't been the one that needed the cheering up, it had been Juniper; no one had tried to do that. Bursting into tears, the nineteen year old woman clutches the letter to her chest and curls into a ball. The only ones to witness the tears are her stuffed animal, and the single rose petal that had been blown in the room by the wind. For the first time, Lilac Griffin knows what it is like to be alone…

**District Seven: Poem for Axel Treefall**

_Skin of armor_

_Bones of steel_

_Mind of solitude_

_Nothing left for you to feel_

_Darkness poured in, blackening your heart_

_Sorrow and anger_

_Madness and rage_

_Hopelessness felt inside_

_Nothing could ever change, remaining the same_

_Fluttering like a gift, the Rose Petal came_

_Golden and pure_

_You were never the same_

_Determined to protect_

_Choosing to fight_

_Just and caring_

_You had chosen what was right_

_Protecting the day_

_And living as the night_

**District Eight: Hellmans Family**

Mr. and Mrs. Hellmans had remained indifferent when Willa had been Reaped for the Hunger Games, and now that she has died, they still do not shed a single tear for the poor mother of two. Being rich and influential, all the couple had wanted was the perfect child; needless to say, Willa didn't match up to that description at all. They wanted someone who would only speak when spoken to, who would love the arts, and yet maintain a ladylike demeanor at all times. Proper table manners would need to be observed, along with keeping in the company only of sophisticated and proper folks; another task that Willa had failed at. Mr. and Mrs. Hellmans wanted someone who would be obedient, someone who would make the perfect Avox if the time ever should come, but instead they ended up with a rebellious teen.

Every time they would take Willa to the designer, to outfit her for a new social event, disaster had struck. Mouthing off at the stylists, their daughter would insist that she knew best, and that everyone else was, "a silly dunderhead who can't tell left from right." Ten inch heels, miniskirts, and revealing t-shirts had been Willa's personal favorites. Any time they bought her a ball gown, it would suffer an awful end at the hands of Willa's fabric shears, ending up being something more appropriate for a strip club. Whenever the couple thought back on it, it's very probable that their little girl had worn it at those types of places as well. No wonder that Willa ended up pregnant either, but that hadn't been the very first in her long line of offenses. That girl had such a mouth on her that Mrs. Hellmans sometimes felt faint when conversing with her, and as for Mr. Hellmans, his bald spot is all product of the stress that Willa had caused.

Now that their daughter had died, they saw this as a time to start fresh. Little Alisande Bell may very well be the proper material for their perfect daughter, and perhaps Central Ree could become their dashing son. These thoughts had been circulating their brains for a while, and right when they were making a call down to the Capitol to inquire on the whereabouts of the grandchildren, they saw the announcement, one that they instantly detested. Clarence O'Hallen, otherwise known as Clark Hallen, had the nerve to adopt Alisande and Central! The news was everywhere, even dominating the interviews for the family members of the final eight Tributes, and increased the size of the bald spot on Mr. Hellmans head. Alisande and Central wouldn't even know of their true roots, the people that wanted them back home, and would come to call the interviewer for the Hunger Games "father."

"Darling, do not distress," Mrs. Hellmans criticized, sipping tea in the parlor while watching Matt Dagger talk about his sister on the extravagant television set.

"The nerve of those people!" Mr. Hellmans raged, reaching for the bottle of gin to soothe his troubles, "Alisande and Central are of Hellmans blood! I protest the actions that _pompous _interviewer has taken as of today! As such, it is only my right, as the head of this noble family, that they are returned to us at once!"

"Yes, but darling…Their blood is impure, tainted, and befouled by that awful slut that took away our precious daughter. I do declare that we seek other methods of continuing on the family name….Perhaps, adoption?" Mrs. Hellmans suggested, frowning slightly when Matt revealed his new status of orphan.

Originally, Mr. Hellmans would have protested this idea entirely. Those mongrels in the orphanage wouldn't be suited for the Hellmans family, all of them filthy and whiney. However, the more he thought about it, the more Mr. Hellmans realized they were more civilized than Willa had been. More so, the elegant ball gowns and fine tailored suits would have been received by grateful hands, rather than shredded into pieces by a pair of shears. Foul language would practically vanish from the household as soon as they were entreated with proper etiquette. Smiling smugly to himself, Mr. Hellmans nodded, promptly instructing his wife to go with the butler to the local orphanage. A daughter would be selected from the midst, being named Challis, and if they had to change the name of the orphan, then so be it. After the imperfections with Willa, Mr. Hellmans was determined to not make the same mistakes with Challis Hellmans.

After all, in his bias opinion, there was not a single thing that he could do wrong twice.

**District Eleven: Poem for Tetra Comn**

_Confused and drifting_

_World seems muddled_

_Time is always shifting_

_Each day, a new pair of eyes_

_A new face_

_A new person who lies_

_The mask never changes_

_But the person inside_

_Goes into a place where only one could hide_

_Difficult to thrive_

_Harder to live_

_A choice_

_Precious few words_

_Change could strike_

_Love could dwindle_

_Meaning of life could die_

_Faces morphing_

_Voices shifting_

_Viewpoints drifting_

_So much to say_

_So little time_

_The little bird_

_Fallen off of the tree_

_Never knowing who really is_

_Who really wasn't_

_And who really could be_

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Griffin Holloway: Shot with an arrow by Persei Baxwoll (D11)**

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

**Malaya Finaca: Tortured and stabbed in the heart with a knife by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

**Axel Treefall: Sliced into pieces with a Japanese Long Sword by Griffin Holloway (D1)**

**Willa Hellmans:** **Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

**Tetra Comn: Head butted and then stabbed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Am I the only one who feels like I'm going to be eaten alive each time a Tribute dies now? No? Good…So yes, go easy on me, as no Tributes are dying in this chapter or the next one. The next chapter is going to be family interviews for the final eight Tributes, if you have a certain family member you want to hear from, leave their name in a review. Also, I believe that there's an army out to kill Wednesday, and another army out to protect her…I'll supply the popcorn for the epic battle! So, the poll question is going to be changed again! I'll display the results below, but two new features are going to be added to the Tributes profiles! While one of them is a bit silly, I asked for them in a question, so I might as well put the theme songs to use!**

_**Who will win the 175**__**th**__** Hunger Games?**_

**1). Leah Dagger with 4 votes**

**2). Adia Loya with 3 votes**

**3). Maya Eberhart and Jet Newton with 2 votes**

**4). Wednesday Vespers with 1 vote**

**5). Jackson Leo Ross, Elezar Brewen, and Persei Baxwoll with no votes**

_Jet Newton received wound medicine and a small bandage. Adia Loya received a medium sized bandage. _


	38. Family Interviews Part One

So, I promised SecretChamp I wouldn't forget to tell you guys about the new pairing! Somehow, Sapphire Riddle has fallen in love with Griffin Holloway! ...Don't ask...We call it Griffire! Yay?

* * *

_Anita Shwratz (72), Citizen of the Capitol-POV_

I absolutely cannot believe that we're already at the final eight Tributes! It feels like just yesterday that Clark Hallen had been interviewing all of our lovely Tributes. Time really does fly when you're having fun, I suppose. And certainly, this must have been one of my favorite Hunger Games. The Minotaur had been an exquisite touch to the already cherished arena. Having it chase around the Tributes like that had been such a marvelous idea; I do expect great things for next year's Hunger Games! Perhaps we'll have another pair of star-crossed lovers, or a little cutie like Ebon Furial. I absolutely cannot wait! It's a more thrilling prospect to guess new dramatic Tribute twists than who will be the Victor at times like this, or at least for me it is. Shifting in my seat ever so slightly, my anxiousness doesn't change that fact at all that I've been supporting Jackson Leo Ross in the arena; I'm sure I'll adore his family!

"Without further ado, let's bring out Matt Dagger, younger brother of Leah, our District Two Tribute for the One Hundred and Seventy Fifth Hunger Games!" Clark announces, grinning widely from his seat on the stage.

Not many people in the Districts actually know that Clark interviews the families and the Tributes on the very same stage; another perk of living in the splendid Capitol! And thought I'm not sure if President Snow also did this, but in the Gremlin era, we always have stylists ready to groom up the darling families. With the younger ones all dolled up, a couple of them have even returned to the Capitol as Tributes, and seldom few are added to our collection of beloved Victors. Whenever something like that occurs, excitement races through me; hopefully, one of the children here today will be back as a Tribute! In fact, it feels like a teaser for the very next Hunger Games, causing me to jump and cheer with joy in my old, old age; waiting for the next Hunger Games to begin is going to be a nightmare at this rate!

A little boy with blinding white hair steps out onto the stage slowly, looking timid and shy in front of the large viewing audience. Nervous green eyes are the next trait that I pick out, making it so I can't help but note how the intensity differs from that of his sister's. And from Matt's tiny size, I can't help but sigh, knowing that he won't be returning to the Capitol as a Tribute, and even if he did, Matt Dagger would not be joining our long list of Victors. Pushing those thoughts aside, he does look rather cute for his age, wearing a lime green tuxedo. Matt's hair is playfully messed up, tugging on my heart strings almost as much as Ebon Furial had done. Upon his wrist is a beaded bracelet, probably some sort of good luck charm; perhaps Leah had given it to him before embarking for the Capitol. I do hope that we'll find out for sure, but from Leah's interview, there's bound to be such drama coming out of Matt's cute little lips in only a few moments. Leaning forward slightly, I hold my breath, just in case that obnoxious requirement of living would cause me to not hear his first words.

"H-Hi," Matt squeaks out quietly; it's a rather good thing they placed a microphone near him, since we wouldn't have heard a single thing otherwise.

Clark smiles comfortingly at the young boy, "So, Matt, this is how our interview is going to work. I'm going to ask you two questions, one about the Hunger Games and the other about home. After that, you're free to return back to District Two!"

Part of me feels like sighing, but it does make sense for only two questions to happen in each interview. If there's some action going on in the arena while we're speaking, though I doubt it as they're all recovering from the feast, we all want to be able to see it live. Watching the reruns isn't as much fun as seeing it right as its happening; I'm sure that the family members all feel the same way. Even if they're from the grimy little Districts, they look slightly human, which means that they should be capable of human thought. At least little Alisande and Central should be able to, as Clark has taken them in out of the goodness of his heart; tears of joy had come to my eyes when I heard the news. Though we'll never see them as Tributes, I have a feeling that one of them will take their adoptive father's place as the interviewer in about forty years or so; it would be such a lovely sight to see.

"So tell me, Matt," Clark started, pausing briefly to recollect his thoughts, "How did you feel when Leah Volunteered for the Hunger Games?"

"Well…," Matt took a shaky breath, playing with the little bracelet, "I was confused…M-My sister wanted to go into the arena…an-and kill people….b-but…she said that she'd come home for me. Th-That I wouldn't h-have to be scared anymore…"

Instantly, the entire audience, along with me, awe quietly at the little boy. From what I recalled, their awful father had been abusive; Peacekeepers publicly executed him a few weeks ago. A good friend of mine, Harmonica, even journeyed out to District Two to go and witness it herself. While I, I didn't want to miss a minute of the Hunger Games, so I simply remained her in the Capitol and watched it live. Fortunately, I turned the television set on just when Fialla Howards walked into that shocking trap; that Reina Vane had been a clever one, that's for sure. It's a shame that Maya Eberhart had to kill her, but I still enjoyed watching Reina walk into that trap, even if a couple tears sprung to my eyes.

Clark nodded, thinking carefully for only a second; there's only one more question left in this little interview, "Right, if I wanted anyone for a sister, Leah would be in my top ten. You're quite a lucky boy, Matt, and don't you ever forget that. Now, before we let you go back home, we have one question that I'm sure everyone has been wanting to here the answer to. Exactly what has been going on with this Thomas character?"

Matt pales, the blood quite literally draining out of his face. Terror is evident, and Clark can see it too, quickly patting the young boy on the back, like a father might have done for a son. Small tears well up in his eyes, my heart instantly going out for the young boy; he shouldn't have to relieve this. So much drama, this surely had been a Hunger Games to remember, and perhaps I can send down a little bit of money to the young boy. After all, I'm positive that Jackson is going to be the one to make it out alive; poor, poor Matt…

"…He-he was….he was my dad…But…," Matt begins to cry softly now, "He would hurt my sister! H-He did horrible things to us! And n-now he's dead…Leah's al-all I g-got now…I just want my sister back home…"

Clark whispers something in Matt's ear, which isn't quite audible, and then motions for an Avox to come and collect the young boy. The tears aren't flowing as fast down his face now, but it draws my attention to the extremely dramatic dilemma, pushing all thoughts of previewing Tributes out of my head. Should I sponsor his sister in the arena? It's rather tempting to do so, but I don't remember if my husband gave the okay on it, so I'll have to speak with him about it later. As soon as Matt's off of the stage, clinging tightly to the arm of a young female Avox, the thought of sponsoring grows firmer and firmer in my mind. I know, I know, I'm such a sucker for a sob story, aren't I?

"Let's have a big round of applause for Mariah Ross, hailing from District Two and the younger sister of our fabulous Jackson Leo!" Clark bellows out, all signs of sadness for the young boy already vanished from his face.

A girl, looking around fifteen years old, steps out confidently onto the stage. Mariah's copper colored hair is up in a pixie cut, quite fabulously too, and only serves for me to believe that she'd make a smashingly brilliant Tribute in the next Hunger Games. Steely gray eyes remind me of a bird of prey, surveying the members of the audience and Clark like her next meal; I've already taken a liking to this girl. Elaborate designs have been etched onto her skin, forming spirals and stars, in the same exact color of her eyes. A ruby red dress sweeps down to the floor, with ruffles and drape like patterns covering the entire thing. Jackson's sister winks towards the audience, and then blows a kiss, to which tons of men reach their hands up to catch it. If Mariah had been in the Hunger Games, she surely would have no trouble at all in gaining sponsors. Sitting down next to Clark, she lays her hands on the arm rests like one would do on a throw, becoming a very dominating presence for all of us to look at; everyone's already going nuts over her.

"May I say that you look striking, Mariah," Clark enthused, before launching into the interview questions, "As we all know, your brother Volunteered for the Hunger Games. But what I'm curious about is that your name had been pulled out of the Reaping bowl. Any thoughts, Miss Ross?"

A scowl mars the face of the petite girl, letting us instantly know that it wasn't her favorite topic, "That no good, rotten, moronic," add in a couple of curse words, some which had Clark's eyes widen, "Leah Dagger thought I'd not be able to compete in the Hunger Games! It is an honor to get to represent District Two and that slut had to take it away from me! Why in the world did she think I needed to be Volunteered for….? But Jackson, my cocky brother, thought that this would be his year to _shine_, despite the fact that the Capitol itself had selected me as Tribute!"

Shocked silence is the only thing we hear, as Clark needs more time than normal to collect his thoughts. Really, I don't blame him at all for it, as I've learned a couple of choice words just from listening to Mariah talk. If she ever ended up in the Hunger Games, which I don't doubt at all from her attitude, I daresay that the Gamemakers might have to censor her. A couple of the Avoxes have expressions of glee on their faces, probably because someone is saying the words they couldn't; security quickly lashes them, snapping them back into attention. Still, this interview is giving me more confidence that my money had been well spent on Jackson, and if Mariah should come back one year, it would be a wise choice to sponsor her as well. Turning my attention back to Clark, sadly missing a bit of the conversation, I wait for the question about Jackson's home impatiently. It's a shame that we're almost one fourth of the way done with the interviews already, but I suppose that is just the way it is when it comes to the Hunger Games.

"Well…never heard a response quite like that, Mariah," Clark comments, obviously still feeling a bit shocked, "How about you tell us about your parents?"

Instantly, the scowl seems to be lifted from her face, as the girl ponders for a moment on how to start. Envy is all I can feel, as she already knows all of the juicy and dramatic details of her life, while I'm going to have to wait for them. Ugh! Sometimes, the family members of the Tributes can be oh so mean to us! What have we done to them, anyways? All we did is give the Tributes the once in a lifetime chance of coming to the Capitol, and then participating in the fabulous Hunger Games; not even my own children had been _that _privileged. They would have died for a chance to be in the illustrious event, and then some of these District people have the nerve to complain about it; the entire idea just rubs me the completely wrong way.

"Well, my mother runs a fabulous clothing shop. Filled with designer clothes and such, you know," the words sound dull and rehearsed, as if Mariah had been instructed to say it before hand, and the slight smile looks all too forced, "while my father, he's the best repair man in all of District Two. Jackson Volunteered to try and beat him, but I doubt that that could ever happen…"

Clark grins slightly, making some comments about how he'll be sure to special order a tuxedo. Once again, Mariah doesn't seem all too interested in it, making idle chitchat as an Avox escorts her off of the stage. Earlier in the interview, she made a huge impression on me, but it started to dwindle as time goes on. From what I can tell, impatience is something normal for her, along with wanting to be in control of things. Good qualities for a Tribute, but not very well for selling and advertising her parents business; Jackson's lucky I'm not going to stop sending him money because of that. Leaning back in my chair slightly, the next Tribute in the lineup would have to be Elezar Brewen; several members of his family had already been interviewed before. I do expect that we'll be seeing one of his sisters, as it's been the pattern so far to have a sibling of the opposite gender come up to speak; no one really does break tradition that often around here.

"Next up, we have Eta Brewen, the sister of the fantastic Elezar Brewen! Give a hand for our District Five citizen, folks!" Clark bellows out, exciting the audience once again.

A malnourished girl, probably about the same age as her brother, steps out onto the stage. Her dirty blonde hair had been braided back, nearly going beneath her butt, but it somehow looks fashionable. Plain and simple, they dressed Eta in a pretty blue dress, with a couple flowers weaved into her long hair. Meek blue eyes have been accented, making them look big and nervous; Eta reminds me very much of a flower. Stepping delicately towards Clark, her tanned body looks dainty and fragile, keeping up with the theme of harmless that I can tell they had picked out for her. Of course, this isn't my first time meeting Eta, as she had been interviewed when we met Columbae Brewen a couple of years ago; this must have been her very last year in the Reaping bowl. A tiny pouch is attached to her, and I don't know what's in it, but the faded appearance to it tells me it came all the way from District Four. Smiling slightly, I can't wait to hear what Eta has to say about her enigmatic brother. And unlike the last Brewen we interviewed, Eta doesn't have the confidence, even if she's extremely graceful in her movements.

"Hello there, Eta," Clark states, smiling softly as he shakes hands with the girl, "It's a pleasure to see you again."

Eta merely nods in reply, a hint of a smile tugging at her cheeks. From what I've seen, along with what I can remember from her talking about Columbae, Eta's an extremely modest and humble girl. All she wants is to please people, make others happy, and also, she cannot stand the sight of blood at all. If Eta had gone into the Hunger Games, there's no doubt in my mind that she would have made an interesting Tribute, though certainly not a Victor. People who won needed to be fighters, they couldn't be cushy feely types, who would cry after killing a rabbit; they needed to be strong and determined to survive. They needed to be like that dreadful Katniss Everdeen, prepared to push the limits and make the dodgy choices, or perish by the consequences. All of our Victors, I thought with a slight smirk, had that one thing in common. But still, that doesn't mean that I don't enjoy seeing the little cuties! Hopefully Ebon had a friend that'll be Reaped for the next Hunger Games! Or better yet, even volunteer, that way they're having more fun than the others here!

"As I'm sure we're all familiar with the Brewen family, even having a chance to get to know Elezar when Raff came into the arena, I'm going to start off with something else. Why is Elezar so….thoughtful? Care to share anything with us about that, Eta?" Clark questions, folding his hands slightly and leaning forward in his seat.

Dwelling on this, Eta quietly replies, "Muscida, my sister, tells me that Elezar has always been that way…No one taught him how to behave, how to speak, or how to act…," she smiles slightly at Clark, probably trying to forget that the entire country of Panem is watching her, "It just made sense to him…I suppose it does make sense, if you think about…it…"

Shy and sweet, that would be the perfect angle for Eta to take during the Hunger Games. Out of all the Brewen girls, meaning Columbae (R.I.P.) and Muscida, she must have been the youngest. Sheltered too, probably, though I do understand that the Districts are forced to watch the Hunger Games each and every year. Really, there isn't any reason that they wouldn't want to watch, as honor and glory rests at their very fingertips in that beloved competition. Not to mention the fame, the riches, and all of the attention that they're bound to receive; even if they're Tributes don't succeed in the Hunger Games this year. I mean, look at District One; they're Tributes are out of the running, but they're not griping about it and showing poor sportsmanship. Why on earth don't the other Districts act that way? District Twelve is probably whining about the loss of Rowan and John, I think those were their Tributes, right about now. Eta probably doesn't cry when District Five loses; from what I've seen, that girl has her heart in the right place, just like any other self respecting Capitol Citizen does. We haven't done anything to anger the Districts, right?

"Interesting," Clark murmurs before launching into his next question, "Now, before we let you go, tell me Eta…does Elezar have what it takes to win the One Hundred and Seventy Fifth Hunger Games?"

Eta tugs on the little pouch that she brought, running her hand absentmindedly over the smooth fabric, "How couldn't I say yes? Elezar is my brother…and…and I love my brothers…It would be wrong of me not to, Clark…"

It's a quiet note that the interview is ended on, but the sponsors of Elezar sitting near me look rather smug. For the enigmatic Tribute, having the soft spoken sibling be the one to take on the interview had been a good way to go. My husband, in fact, sponsored Elezar earlier in the Hunger Games, though I later convinced him to switch his funds over to Jackson Leo Ross. Earning a twelve, sure, he must have done something to impress the Gamemakers, but I see more potential in a Career District than a Middle District. Bloodthirstiness is something that the District One, Two, and Four Tributes just about always have, and consequently, they're just about always the Victor of the Hunger Games. However, District Thirteen is becoming more and more skilled, what with our little army being stationed there; oops, wasn't supposed to mention that, as its top secret and all.

"Give a warm welcome to Catalina Eberhart, little sister of our District Six Underdog, Maya!" Clark cheers, meaning that we're sadly just about half way done with the interviews.

Looking eerily like her sister, Catalina Eberhart steps out onto the stage. Ribbons, a soft gray color, are weaved into her hair, though unlike Eta, the stylists decided to leave it down. Petite and slender, I believe that she couldn't be older than fourteen years old, but some of the people in the Districts don't exactly look their age. Then again, Clark doesn't appear to be around forty years old, as most people here comment that he's seemingly only twenty five years of age. The same color as the ribbons, and her sister's, Catalina has soft gray eyes, which the stylists again used makeup to look big and vulnerable. With long blonde hair, the simple white dress doesn't look overdone at all; it's tied at the waist with a gray sash. Matching white flats are used for her shoes, and unlike Maya, there isn't a single freckle in sight; must not be a very common family trait then, I decide. As Catalina, or Cat as I remember Maya referring to her as, sits down, I notice a slight trembling in her pale hands; like Matt Dagger had been earlier; we have yet another nervous little sibling on our hands.

"Call me Cat…," she mumbled, her eyes racing around the room, looking like she's been planning out an escape route.

Clark nodded quickly, and then launched into the interview, helping Cat through it as best as he could, "So Maya had been predicted to die in the Bloodbath, but instead, she's a large contender for being a Victor. Is there anything that you'd like to tell us about that?"

Ah yes, the Bloodbath list; it had been ages since anyone talked about that. Some of the Tributes on it had died at the very start of the Hunger Games, but I believe that Fialla and Maya were the only ones on it not to. Josh should have been added to it as well, though I do suppose it's hard to predict who isn't going to make it from only reactions. Now, the only survivor of the Bloodbath list is Maya Eberhart; about ten percent of the Capitol thought that she'd be our newest Victor. Certainly, all of District Six is going to be hoping that as well, since their last Victor regrettably passed away recently; no one is able to Mentor them unless Maya wins. Or if whoever wins the next Hunger Games is from District Six, I suppose, though I do believe they'd prefer to have a winner now rather than later. If I came from the Districts, I would really want as much help as I could get, but it's not our fault that the Districts aren't performing well enough in the Hunger Games; the Career Districts already figured out to train, so why don't the others?

"…Maya's going to win…," Cat whispered, looking at her feet as if they're the most interesting thing in the world, "...I know she is..."

Clark nods, grinning ever so slightly, "I believe that the statistics are starting to agree with you, Cat. After all, she took out Reina Vane, Nicolas Riddle, and the fearsome Tetra Comn; quite impressive for a District Six Tribute."

Oddly enough, the little girl looks like she's going to be sick right there. It was a sudden thing, that green tinge that came onto her skin, but I know that they won't let her end the interview without having the second question back. The amount they used to ask the families is tremendously more, so little Cat should be grateful that they only spend a short amount of time with her. It's even less than what we get to learn about the Tributes with, and if Maya indeed does win the Hunger Games, Cat should expect to have a lot more attention focused on her. That little girl is going to be in for a reality check soon enough, one that I am starting to think will come as quite a shock. Already, she's been coming off as skittish and such, not a very good thing for getting sponsors in the Hunger Games. Though I suppose we won't see Cat represent District Six in the arena then; despite public opinion, I don't think that it is all too often that relatives of Victors or past Tributes are chosen. The Brewen family is a large exception to this rule, however, as I believe this is the third child of theirs that's entered the arena, albeit willingly on Elezar's part.

"Yeah….Am I done now….?" Cat replies, "You already mentioned something about the Hunger Games and I answered….so…?"

Clark chuckles, causing the entire audience, myself included to join in, "Tricky one, aren't you?" he pauses, intending for Cat to give a response, but she doesn't reply at all, "Well, I suppose you're right. Give her a hand, ladies and gents!"

After Cat practically runs off of the stage, Clark announces that we'll be taking a short intermission. Of course, I'm too preoccupied by wondering why they let her end the interview early, even if she technically had already been asked two questions. Would they make Maya pay for it in the arena? Hmm…Probably not, as the girl didn't have any control over her sister, and we aren't nearly that cruel. In fact, in my opinion the Districts are very lucky to have us watching over them, nurturing them, and protecting them to the best of our abilities. They should have been more grateful than the way that they've been acting, inciting rebellion and screaming insults directly at our faces. Just thinking about it turns my face red, sets my mind on fire, and would give me fists of fury in just moments. Turning my head towards my nephew, Damien, he's gazing intently into his mobile device. Jet Newton is on the screen, Damien's cold blue eyes looking over each and every single statistic that it has to display.

"Having fun there?" I ask, trying to get a conversation out of him; he works as a Peacekeeper, so I don't get to see my nephew all too often.

"Oh yes…," Damien mutters absentmindedly, "I've finally found what I'm looking for…"

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Griffin Holloway: Shot with an arrow by Persei Baxwoll (D11)**

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

**Malaya Finaca: Tortured and stabbed in the heart with a knife by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

**Axel Treefall: Sliced into pieces with a Japanese Long Sword by Griffin Holloway (D1)**

**Willa Hellmans:** **Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

**Tetra Comn: Head butted and then stabbed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**So there is Part One of the Interviews! We'll hear from Robyn, Miri, Fabian, and River tomorrow. It was going to be all in one part at first, but I wanted to update daily for you guys, and it already is at a standard chapter length. As for the battle of the two armies, I think they're in the yelling at each other stage, so I'll keep the popcorn hot for you guys! Have a great Wednesday! Remember to go check out the new poll, which I'll be posting in a second!**

_**Who will make it to the final three?**_

**1). Adia, Jet, and Leah with 7 votes**

**2). Maya, Persei, and Elezar with 3 votes**

**3). Leah, Jackson, and Wednesday with 2 votes**

**4). Elezar, Jackson, and Jet with 1 vote**

**5). Wednesday, Adia, and Persei with no votes**

_Wednesday Vespers received a small bottle of water_


	39. Family Interviews Part Two

_Anita Shwratz (72), Citizen of the Capitol-POV_

Clark stands up, calling the audience to attention, "Now, let's continue on with the cousin of Wednesday, Robyn Vespers of District Ten!"

Everyone erupts into applause as a young boy steps out onto the stage, looking about twelve years old, the same exact age as his cousin. Peculiarly, an eye patch covers his left eye, the black piece of fabric appearing crisp; the stylists must have done that for him. All of the videos of the Districts let us know that dirt and grime settles on them no matter what, part of the reason that it is fitting for the pristine Capitol to be their guiding force. From gazing towards Robyn's right eye, the color is a sapphire blue, matching the neatly tailored suit that he's wearing. The era for his fashion choice is more fitting for someone stuck in Victorian times, but the little boy somehow carries it off well. A simple cane is clenched in his hand, aiding him ever so slightly as he walks forward; already, I can tell that Robyn must have been in some sort of horrible accident. Scowling towards the audience, Robyn merely nods at Clark upon sitting down, drawing out attention to his feminine like boots; definitely going to be an interesting interview. Really, this boy reminds me so much of the District Three Tribute this year, I think his name was Gritz, yet the resemblance between the two couldn't have been more different.

"Hello there, Robyn…," Clark greets, grinning widely, though it quickly vanishes upon only receiving a curt nod, "How about we start off with telling us about how Wednesday came to live with you? If I remember correctly, and tell me if I'm wrong, but she is an orphan."

Robyn pauses in silence, though I recognize how his fist clenches ever so slightly. The cane must have been used for something other than aiding him while walking, I supposed as I fished through my mind for each detail on the District Ten Tribute. Besides the obvious of course, that Wednesday must have been the most bloodthirsty twelve year old that had entered the Hunger Games in years. All in all, she probably should have signed up with the Careers at the very start, as her original ally had been killed in the Bloodbath. Oh well, it's not my fault at all when the Tributes don't make the sane decisions; my job is just to sponsor them what they need to fix their mistakes. Of course, only one of the Tributes will be able to fix all of their mistakes, and then we allow the Districts to start fresh again the next year. It's really wonderful that we let them have all of these chances at fixing their reputation, which my nephew wholeheartedly agrees with. Glancing towards him again, I note that he has the same hair color as young Robyn, though the personality that the little boy is displaying couldn't have been more different.

"Wednesday's parents died from a sickness," Robyn states plainly, his mind clearly somewhere else, "She then lived with her brother, Janus, for a little while…I completely detested him, and soon enough, no one else in her family remained but me…," a slight smile graces his lips, "As of such, my parents won custody of Wednesday."

Theories spin through my head instantly, wondering exactly what Robyn had meant. Naturally, tons of people in the Districts die from sickness each and every year, so that didn't shock me all too much. But this Janus character, something horrible must have happened for him, something that Robyn enjoyed all too well. It sent shivers running up and down my spine, but not out of terror; watching the Hunger Games had taught me how silly that extreme emotion tended to be. Death isn't something to be scared of, though I certainly wouldn't want to do it, so I have the Tributes carry out that fate instead. A disturbing emotion stirs up deep down inside of me, yet a questioning look from Damien drives it out of mind and out of sight quickly. Turning my head towards Clark again, trying to not think too much about the disturbing Robyn, this is the one interview that I'm actually not enjoying. Having them bring out whoever was next, the relation of Persei Baxwoll I believe, would have been much more enjoyable. All of the happiness in the air is sucked away by the little boy; I'm hoping that we don't ever see him as a Tribute, as the District Three boy had been such a downer on the mood this year.

"Ah…," Clark said, probably just to fill the silence, "What do you have to say on Wednesday's strategy for the Hunger Games? Hiding around a Tribute and attacking when their guard is down?"

"It's all a game, Clarence…," Robyn states, the tiny smile vanishing completely and instantly, "Children do adore their games, and just like I do, Wednesday will wish to finish her game. Nothing at all is going to stop her from doing so, and from the amount of sponsoring she has been sent as of now, I daresay that you'll be seeing what it really means to win the Hunger Games…What skills you really need to ensure that the attainable victory is going to be within your grasp…Otherwise, you can only move half the spaces, which is far too slow."

Once again, Robyn has that far off look in his eyes, as if he's remembering something else. Something else that he'd referenced to, but none of us would be able to understand; for District Ten's sake, I do hope that it had only been a dream. This boy is unsettling, someone who I hope will never return to the Capitol. Yet at the same time, people around me break out into a cheer, only going louder as Robyn places his black top hat, a blue ribbon tied around the base, back onto his head. Looking and acting like the lord of a manor, the boy waves halfheartedly to the people as he walks off, not even bothering to wait for Clark to dismiss him. However, the interviewer doesn't mind at all, grinning with relief that the interview is said and done with. Reclining back in my chair, Robyn Vespers is finally off the stage, meaning that there's only three more interviews until I can check what updates have happened in the arena; I'm not going to be like Damien and watch during them, a rather uncouth thing to do if you ask me.

"Next up, we've brought in District Eleven's Miri Baxwoll…You guessed it, the older sister of Persei!" Clark says enthusiastically, staring off to the side, waiting for the District Eleven girl to come out.

Wearing a delicate pink number, a beautiful young woman walks onto the stage. The dress is strapless, showing off her lean arms, and happens to be the exactly correct shade to not clash with her skin tone. Little ruffles run down it, looking almost like vines sewn onto the silk fabric; a slit goes up to about mid thigh on the left side of the dress. Yet somehow, it looks smashingly well put together, even with all the different styles melded into one, making it almost appear to be a District Eight Chariot outfit. Dark hair is almost as straight as a stick, with soft pink flowers weaved into tiny braids; Miri's the most beautiful District Eleven girl that I've ever seen. In fact, it's a breath of fresh air after seeing Tetra, who didn't look anything like the norm for that particular District. Miri smiles sweetly, bringing a warm presence that the room had lost upon Robyn walking inside, before sitting down next to Clark.

"You look breathtaking, Miri," Clark comments, "There's something that I wanted to show the viewing audience, that way we can have your reaction live and in person…Don't worry, this counts as a question," he chuckles, probably thinking back to Cat Eberhart.

"Sure thing," Miri replies, still smiling sweetly towards the interviewer; she'd make a good Tribute.

Clark smiles back at the girl, before informing everyone to turn their attention to the television screen that sits behind him. Nodding his head slightly, probably towards someone in the control room, it flashes to life in a blaze of color. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Damien staring ahead impatiently. My nephew's always been like that, insisting on getting what he wants and when he wants it, probably the reason that he'd made such a brilliant Peacekeeper. Really, it is a shame that they keep transferring him from District to District, not even being able to tell his own family where and when he's assigned to leave; it breaks my sister's heart each time it happens. A tape begins to play, which a label helpfully identifies as Persei's interview, drawing my attention away from my nephew for the time being; Miri looks apprehensively towards it.

_ "Is there anything you'd like to say to your family?" Clark asks. _

_ Wearing a dirt brown suit, Persei quickly looks around, as if trying to find a camera to talk into. Eventually, the District Eleven Tribute locates one, his expression one of the desperate. Whatever he's going to say next, it's sure to be some sort of big reveal, sending the minds of each Capitol citizen reeling, wanting to have the information presented to them already. Persei takes a deep breath, going over his words one more time in his mind, before finally answering Clark's question; he's taken up much of his interview time by doing this, I can't help but note. _

_ "I'm sorry, Miri…I wish I could have been nicer, that I could have been a better brother, but it's too late. It's too late for me, but not for you."_

A single tear cascades down Miri's cheek, leaving silence to reign over the room. No one is going to say or do anything until Miri responds to what Persei had said, that much is clear. Even my nephew has averted his gaze from the Hunger Games, curious as to what this beauty will do. Minutes must have passed, probably causing the Gamemakers do be a bit angered, and President Gremlin to become infuriated, until she does something. Raising her hand, the thumb and pinky are folded in, forming a three fingered salute, which she presses to her mouth. After doing that, Miri points it towards the frozen image of Persei; most people don't dare to use that symbol much more, as it became popular in Districts Eleven and Twelve close to the last rebellion. They're probably not all too happy with her either, so I'm guessing that they suddenly shifted back to the Hunger Games, briefly not showing the interviews that are taking place here.

Clark nods painfully, knowing what this could mean for the Baxwoll family, "And now, Miri, if there was something that you could tell Persei right now, what would you say?"

Slowly setting down her hand, keeping it in the old fashioned salute, the girl paused to recollect her thoughts, "I…I'd….Perc….I care a lot about you, too much to let you die in that arena. You're coming home, Perc, I'll make sure of it!"

Grasping her hand, Clark raises it into the air like he does with the Victors, probably trying to distract from the salute that Miri had done. Everyone cheers, not even Damien being uncouth by not joining in; President Gremlin still is going to be paying a visit to District Eleven, that much I'm sure of. Once again, it just proves how idiotic the District people can be, another reason that they're lucky to have us ruling over them. All they're capable of is serving, while us, we're all too willing to be served; who wouldn't be? Victors are the same way, proving their worth through combat in the arena, and then they allow us to fawn over them, bathing them in riches beyond their wildest dreams. Only two more interviews remain, meaning that I'll have to return to my illustrious home soon enough; again, what a shame.

"Straight from District Thirteen, you're going to love Fabian Loya, older brother of the beloved Adia!" he announces, still managing to get the thrill out of the audience, even though it's the seventh interview out of eight.

A charming young man, probably already out of the Reaping bowl, smiles kindly at us as he walks onto the stage. Fabian sends a wave in my direction, which I do admit causes me to feel faint for a moment, but for the safety of my marriage I try not to think too much about the boy. Warm chocolate eyes sweep over the crowd, and if my memory serves correctly, they must have come from his father's side of the family, as I recall Adia saying she had her mother's eyes. Fabian's messy hair is of the same shade, left alone by the overbearing stylist that I'm sure he had receiving; that boy is such a heartthrob. A plain white dress shirt, partnered with a black tie and slacks, is the simplistic outfit that they had selected for him. In fact, it contrasts a lot with the elaborate display that Miri had been wearing, but I do admit that I rather like it on him. Too bad Fabian's too old for the Hunger Games now, as he's certainly yummy…Right, knock it off, Anita; you have a husband to think about!

"It's good to be here, Clark," Fabian comments, shaking his hand firmly before sitting down, looking quite relaxed in the red chair.

"Glad to hear it," Clark replies grinning, as most people don't have too much fun being interviewed, "Tell us about what life is like for the Loya children, Fabian."

Thinking about the wording, I instantly can tell why Clark didn't want to hear about the parents. Our top secret army, which I must stop thinking about, less I get in trouble with the Capitol, is located in Adia's home District. Of course, that means that someone has to be in charge of the whole ordeal, training the people and maintaining the supplies. It just so happens that Louis Loya, father of Adia and Fabian, is that very person. Running the training sessions, calling in to the Capitol whenever they need more supplies, all of that would be common knowledge in the Loya family.

Naturally, President Gremlin wouldn't want Fabian talking about it, telling everyone in Panem that the secret army of the Capitol is located in the outermost District. All elements of surprise would be gone, practically vanishing into thin air, and meaning that we'd have to find someplace else to establish it. So instead of living through that whole catastrophe, Fabian and Adia are just going to have to be rather careful with their words whenever televised. And in the latter's case, that could very well mean at all times; Adia will be followed everywhere if she wins the Hunger Games. It interests me what Fabian is going to talk about right now, and from his skinny, along with pale, build I doubt that he helps out his father with training the army. In fact, he may very well just sit on the couch all day, eating ice cream while watching some of our favorite reality shows, along with some of the more fictional ones. For a brief minute, I can't help but wonder when the movie "Future Hunger Games: the 289th" is going to be shown again on pay-per-view.

"Pay attention," Damien hisses in my ear, causing me to blink, missing a little bit of Fabian's answer.

"-work as a scientist. My ultimate goal is to improve the conditions of the Thirteen Districts of Panem. Not only would this increase population, life expectancy, and health, it would also be of aid to the Capitol. Strong workers are more productive than ones who are weak, so I hope that President Gremlin will allow me to continue my research," Fabian informs, his voice purely explanatory, "Of course, that's provided that I'll be able to earn the funds that would be required. I'm hoping to be able to take out a loan with someone, if possible…If not, I'll just have to keep on saving my pennies and hope for the best, Clark."

Population increase? Longer lives? Better health? That's the only things that I'm able to catch, as most of the people here don't talk like that, or at least they don't speak nearly as fast as Fabian does. If I could have used a remote to put him in slow motion, then I would have done that as soon as I could, to save my sanity over wondering what in the world he had said. Muddling through the slight memory of it, the word 'loan' sticks out in my head; this handsome District citizen is in need of funds. Like they had a mind of their own, my hand drifted into my purse, sifting through it for the checkbook, only to discover that it wasn't there. Sighing slightly, I knew that my husband must have taken it out, worried that I'd sponsor someone after hearing a well rehearsed sob story from one of the family members…If only he could have seen me now! I had a good reason to sponsor the enchanting, beautiful, intelligent…Okay, maybe he did have a point…But…Fabian did deserve that money, I think…

"Woah, that's certainly a mouthful!" Clark notes, saying the words that had been running through his head, "As District Thirteen joins the Careers sometimes, is Adia skilled enough to win the Hunger Games? Be honest, Fabian…"

"Honestly, Clark," Fabian pauses, lost in thought for a moment, "my sister is going to win for sure. It'll be a piece of cake for District Thirteen this year, and as I'm sure you all know, I'm all too correct."

All too quickly, Fabian's ushered off of the stage and replaced with someone else. Moping in my sadness, I don't quite hear Clark announce the relation to Jet, but the name of the Tribute sticks with me. Curly red hair and baby blue eyes, River Wolfsbane doesn't look anything like Jet, her freckly skin looking dreadfully pale. Frowning slightly, I admonish myself for not watching, for not paying attention, but Damien hasn't noticed this time. Instead, he's glaring forward at River with tremendous focus, as if he's going to blink and miss the most important moment of his life. Glancing up towards a monitor, it's thankfully showing the identification card of River, making it easy for me to figure out exactly who she is. Simply put, River Wolfsbane is a distant cousin of Jet, dating back to the Mockingjay period, and the adopted daughter of District Twelve's Mayor Wolfsbane. Just like when her cousin had been Reaped, my nephew has stellar concentration, practically obsessing with hearing each and every little detail. Some people in the Capitol do react that way to Tributes, and while Damien had been cheering on Enyo, last year's Victor, I hadn't seen him react this intensely. Peradventure he worked in District Twelve, meaning that he would logically know River, and I'm positive that he's made a couple of trips to District Thirteen; being a Peacekeeper, Damien tells me, is an extremely demanding job.

River's dressed in a baby blue dress, the same exact color of her eyes; here in the Capitol, we do intend to enjoy seeing matching ensembles. A single sleeve holds it up on the left side, drawing the eye at an angle as it cascades down to the floor. While it's not an extremely tight dress, it doesn't mean that it's puffy either, as we can clearly make out River's slender form. Pearls decorate the bodice, flowing in the same angled pattern that the shoulder had set up. Click clacking her way onto the stage, heeled white boots are selected for her shoes, but the dress makes it rather hard to see them. Unlike the other Tributes before, sapphire earrings and a pearl necklace are added on as jewelry; I suppose River could afford more extravagancies, being the Mayor's daughter, and they decided to dress her accordingly. Wearing a confident smile, River's back is perfectly erect; she too would be a brilliant Tribute for the very next Hunger Games.

"River, you seem like a very confident young lady, though I'm curious to how you were able to know Jet so well. People aren't able to travel from District to District, with the exception of Victors and Peacekeepers," Clark kicks off the interview, only now allowing himself to lean back in his seat a bit.

"Ah, well there's a very simple solution to that, Clark," River says lightly, chuckling a bit to herself, "I have this _mythical _creation called a telephone. And as my father is the Mayor, we've been able to supply Jet with one in his home at District Thirteen. Presto! I can call my cousin whenever I feel like it….Next silly question!"

Everyone laughed at River's humor, a quality that it's apparently lacking in her mysterious cousin. Though I knew that I should have been offended by her wording, an uncanny liking of the girl rose up in me, letting the whole matter go by peacefully. Tributes had poked fun at the Capitol before, no one cared about it then, so there really wasn't a reason that we should mind when the family of the Tributes do so. As long as no one insulted the President, then I expect that the Wolfsbane family is going to be all right, even if I can't exactly say the same for the Baxwoll family. Or whatever is left of the Hellmans family, with the exception of the adopted twins, after the little stunt that Willa had pulled; oh, add the Treefall family into that too, with Axel's sequel stunt.

"Okay, okay!" Clark responded, knowing that this would be the final question of the night, "If it came down to Adia and Jet, who would win? I don't know if I'm the only one, but I think I see a pair of star-crossed lovers in this Hunger Games!"

River's lip curls, like someone had told her a joke she'd been tired of hearing, "Really, Jet is going to win the Hunger Games. If you think otherwise, then one of the finest users of twin daggers is clearly thought of as a diamond in the rough. By betting on Jet…Jet Newton, you have ensured winning whatever spoils you could possibly desire; only the stupid would do otherwise. And as of such, I believe that Jet would kill Miss Loya without hesitation."

Needless to say, just about each person around me stood up and started to applaud. Reluctantly, I joined them, not wanting to be the little old granny who doesn't understand talent when she sees it. Of course, Damien would have glared at me, and I do try to not upset him; Hunger Games season is only fun when everyone is having a good time. It's a lesson that the Careers already know, and I do wish that the other Tributes will figure out eventually, that way they won't make so many dramatic pleas for escape at their Reaping ceremony. Flowers are even being thrown towards Miss Wolfsbane, who reminds me of Robyn by merely waving them away with her pale hand. Walking off of the stage, River tosses her hair over her shoulder, causing everyone to erupt into cheering once more; as an afterthought, I'm rather sad that I left my trusty earplugs at home.

"River Wolfsbane…," Damien murmurs, looking once again at his mobile device, "Hiding in plain sight…How clever of you…"

Shaking my head slightly at my enigmatic nephew, I once again cannot wait for the very next Hunger Games! So many of these family members would make excellent Tributes in the arena, and I daresay, a couple of them would have fabulous training scores. Pulling out my own mobile device, the flashing sign appears on it, making me let out a sigh. Tributes really ought to be informed of when the interviews are taking place, that way we don't miss out on the action because of poor planning on their part. Really, it's such a shame that I missed the live performance. And more so, I rather liked that one…

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Griffin Holloway: Shot with an arrow by Persei Baxwoll (D11)**

Leah Dagger:

Jackson Leo Ross:

**Malaya Finaca: Tortured and stabbed in the heart with a knife by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

**Axel Treefall: Sliced into pieces with a Japanese Long Sword by Griffin Holloway (D1)**

**Willa Hellmans:** **Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

**Tetra Comn: Head butted and then stabbed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**In your review, please tell me which of the family interviews stood out the most! That's my only author's note for this time!**

_Leah Dagger received dried meat and iodine drops_

_Maya Eberhart received a large bottle of water_


	40. Nightmares

_Jet Newton (16), District Thirteen Male-POV_

Out of my right eye, everything remains in perfect detail. Adia's sweet face, creased with worry as she scoops out some of the wound medicine, a peculiar paste that the Capitol had created in their laboratories. In theory, it should be able to prevent infection from spreading; looking down at the knife, blood and something white covers it, not helping my hopes of being able to heal at all. Injuries weren't something that I wasn't used to, but at the prospect of losing half of my vision, dread quickly grew inside of me. People would be able to sneak up on me now, kill me when my back was turned, and there wasn't a single thing that I could do about it. More so, Obsidian, my Mentor, even had included a little note, just for me. Naturally, he favored Adia and so didn't wish to share the morbid news with her.

_Not much hope for your sight. Sorry. –Obsidian _

"All right, this might sting a little bit…," Adia mumbles, scooting so close that she's practically in my lap.

The proximity causes my cheeks to burn a bit, but that coat of grime and blood covers it up effectively. No girl had ever done this before, something that I never expected to happen in my lifetime. Really, I'd just always be Jet, the boy with the gigantic target on his back; people don't usually want to get close to me. Of course, Adia probably figures that I'm one of the homeless orphans in District Thirteen, not realizing who I really was, who I used to be. All of the junk that they would learn in their schools, things like nuclear physics and the proper way to mine graphite, it would have been lost on me; good thing the Gamemakers would turn the cameras away anyways if she did start talking about it. Staring into those blue eyes, narrowed slightly with concentration, it's harder than it should have been to not brush the blonde hair behind her ear.

"Just get it over with," I growl, "At this rate; the entire Career Pack is going to show up with a bucket of popcorn!"

Adia rolls her eyes, mumbling something under her breath that I don't care to pick out. Feeling restless, the pain in my left eye remains my number one problem, the problem that I'm hoping my District Partner, and now ally, is going to get a move on and solve. Intense, that's really the best word to describe it, and I nearly swear at Adia again, but cease; she weapons and fully functioning senses, while I don't. Right now, the Master would have been jeering at me, calling me weak and useless, just like he had done to the other children with permanent wounds; a scowl graces my face at the very thought. Always having to be the one in control, the one who chose if you'd die or live on to see another day, the very idea of us getting hurt seemed to be a foreign concept. If we refused to perform, from laziness or a true reason, the sentence would always be the same; death by his hands. No wonder he loved the Hunger Games; a chilling thought, that he might be sponsoring me right now, nearly had me cowering in a corner.

Finally, the paste is pressed lightly onto my eyes, stinging majorly. Clamping my mouth firmly shut, as to not elicit cries of infuriating pain, my ally had no idea what she's putting me through. Spreading it around some more, a feeling of coolness starts to grow, causing a sigh of relief to barely escape my lips. It brings out a small smile on Adia's face, which remains there as she reaches behind her to grab the bandage. Small, but the exactly correct size and type, it looks exactly like an eye patch. As if she sensed my thoughts, Adia nodded, confirming my thoughts as she tied it around my head. The only way that I know it's covering my eye is the feel of the fabric, though it is harder to tell; something in that paste is designed to numb, I realize. That's another thing that I particularly hated; not only did I have to partially lose my sight, I had to lose feeling in that eye as well. Right about now, I see the Master laughing his head off while drinking tequila, the other children sitting off to themselves in terror; if only I could have been able to save them as well. River and Skylark had tried to save me, but they'd been too late.

Only I can save myself….

"So what were you saying about popcorn?" Adia asks, walking over to our little supply stash.

Rolling my eyes, I mean, eye, I slowly stood up from my crouch. Whatever had been in our little blue backpacks ought to be worth it, as it's costing me something that I don't typically want to part with. All sounds of the mini Bloodbath had quieted down by now, with no new cannons blasting off to signal that I was one step closer to being free from the Hunger Games. Glancing over at Adia, each part of me screamed to stab the girl while her back was turned, to take what I needed and leave, while the girl took the fall for me. I could do it, my daggers were out of her reach now, and I don't think that she has anything on her; she must have earned that eight through weaponry anyways, as hand-to-hand combat isn't rather popular when it comes to special talents. Reaching downwards, the metal brushes my fingertips, practically begging for someone to come crashing into it, that way the stick substance of blood could be covering the blade. But for once in my lifetime, I don't think that I can quite do it, I don't think that I have it in me to kill Adia Loya.

"Nothing," I mutter bitterly, hating and loving myself for the silent failure, "Nothing at all."

"Doesn't sound like nothing, Jet…," Adia comments, undoing the latch that keeps the bags firmly shut.

"Well it is…," I argue, already annoyed for several reasons today, "Now what in the world are inside of those things?"

Shaking her head at me, Adia tosses one of the backpacks gently towards me. Making some excuse about hearing something funny, she stalks off a bit away; probably having female problems, I suspect. Already, I can't stand this blonde chick; the dagger in my hand reminds me of what I'd been too weak to do. Weakness shouldn't be in my at all, as it had been pounded out of me since a very young age, so it made no reason that I shouldn't be able to kill her. Had the Capitol changed me from a monster into a coward? Thinking through the statement, self hatred fills me up, knowing that Adia wouldn't have hesitated to kill me. The dagger remains in my hand though, reflecting an image of someone I surely detested.

Black hair cut down as short as it could be; a buzz cut that not many people did choose to receive. Cold blue eyes set in a stony face, skinny yet not bony, with absolutely no compassion for living beings. Leather jacket, with a boring blue jumper; all of it was something that I knew all too well. Instead of turning around to face the Master, to stab him with all the hatred I felt as a source of my might, my good eye remained locked onto the reflection. My mouth opened slightly with horror, looking at the gauze that covered the Master's left eye; it appeared to be identical to my own. The Master's hand appeared on the reflection, tapping at the white bandage; eerily, I found my own hand in that same exact position. Gulping painfully, each Adam's apple bobbed in unison, causing panic to begin to arise within me.

"Master…," I stuttered, fearfully watching as the reflection mouthed the same exact word back at me.

Out of shock, the dagger dropped out of my hand, clattering loudly on the rocky floor; it didn't even cross my mind that Adia hadn't returned yet. Numbly, it felt like an out of body experience, that I was just watching myself tug off the white bandage. Somehow, a feeling told me that all of this is happening inside of my head, that it isn't real, that it just couldn't be real. For once, I ignored what my mind told me and followed the orders of my heart; that's what the Master does. According to what my right eye had told me, the Master's in the arena right now, and in fact, he's representing District Thirteen. Clawing at my eye, disturbingly, my hand had only been met with empty air. Once again, nervousness sends my heart hammering, louder than the beat of a war drum, as I tried to find my beloved eye. Emptiness, there wasn't anything there anymore; my eye was gone.

"Adia?" I call out, poking around inside of the empty socket, "Adia?! Adia?! Where are you?!"

Running forward, somehow I knew that whatever had been inside the bags would be extremely important for me. But right now, that didn't matter; my ally must have betrayed me. No one else had been around; I would have heard them, as I heard that people with weak vision can have extremely accurate hearing. Given my status of half blind, I must have the best ears in the entire arena now; I cracked a grin at that thought. Sounds of murmuring came from ahead, so I raced in that direction as quick as I could, leaving the backpacks abandoned behind me; whoever Adia was making a deal with, they didn't need to know about my items. I didn't even know what they were, though I bet that treacherous Adia did; there was something about her that she wasn't telling me.

_"Come on, Jet…," _a faint voice called out, _"I miss you…I need you…"_

Pausing in my tracks, I trained my ear as much as I could. An unearthly breathing filled the air, causing shivers and shakes the louder that it got. Eventually, even the walls of the arena started to crumble, collapsing in on themselves in a heap. Dust rose up everywhere, creating a coughing fit, a bloody one at that; oddly enough, I could barely feel the pain this time. An oxygen mask would have been a good thing to have at a time like this; hopefully they would have put them in the bags. Was this the disaster that the Gamemakers had been planning for us? Adia must have been in cahoots with them, purposefully stealing my eye when she placed that paste onto the wound. Thinking back on it, I'm not even sure that's the proper way to treat an eye injury, so it might have even been some form of poison. Not like I'd be able to know though, as the wicked witch had robbed me of my sight, and with the crumbling chunks of rock flying down towards my head, my life as well.

Something grabbed my shoulders, roaring loudly as I turn around. There, in broad daylight, is the worst thing that I could have imagined. The Minotaur, the deadly mutation that I knew the Master, I mean, I had sent in to attack me; a slight headache occurred at those thoughts. It stamped its feet, mouthing words that I just couldn't understand which obviously irritated the beast even more than it had been before. Reaching behind me, the firmness of the dagger blade greeted my hand, leaving only half of me bewildered; I hadn't left it anywhere near here. Pain shot through me, as a burning sensation sprouted throughout my entire body, just as the Minotaur charged forward at me. Horn pointed towards me, I felt like a helpless puppet, only able to sit and watch in excruciating pain as the bringer of my death came closer and closer towards me.

_"Jet? Please, Jet, please!" _the voice said again, looking as if it had been coming from the Minotaur.

Blackness enveloped me, just in time so I could see the two light blue pinpricks…The two eyes of the Minotaur…and the two eyes of Adia…

_Wednesday Vespers (12), District Ten Female-POV_

Quietly and effectively, I'd been stalking my latest target for at least a couple hours. No more cannons had gone off since the Feast, meaning that there are only seven more players to take about before I'm crowned the Victor. Smiling slightly, a giggle escapes at the very thought, thinking about how much fun this entire experience had been. Too easy, that's the first words that pop into my mind, especially as I took out two of the favorites for this year's Hunger Games. Sure, it had cost me all of my supplies, except for the tiny backpack and the miniscule knife that I'd managed to steal off of Leah; the idiot Career hadn't even seen me when I raided her weapons cache.

If only Robyn could have been here right now, then I would have had a decent opponent to play against. All of the older kids, the ones that usually win, are too concerned about getting out of here without a scratch. Sure, the wound on my neck doesn't happen to be my favorite thing, but the bandage some stupid Capitol citizen had sent in had done the trick. At least, I grimaced slightly at the red color it had begun to turn; it would last long enough for me to be pronounced the Victor of the Hunger Games. Then I'd be in the care of the exquisite Capitol surgeons, who would piece me back together, placing me back in tip-top condition. A cruel smile broke out on my face, watching Jackson continue to limp further and further ahead, heading straight for the trap I'd set for him.

I think back to my secret hideout, the little piece of heaven that I had found earlier in the Hunger Games. Sneaking up that ladder had been the best thing that I had ever done, something that none of the Careers would have even thought of going to inspect; they were positive that this entire arena was underground. Well, I hate to break it to them, but they're all too wrong about that fact, something that I had found out from my very first day in this beloved place. After the half an hour long climb, which some of the Tributes would have struggle to maintain, natural light had greeted my eyes. Rejuvenating is how the discovery had made me feel; the rest of my supplies were stored up there, on the upside of the arena, the side that I'm sure no one else knew about. But the bonus prize had been the flowers growing up there, which while they looked tame and safe in appearance, they were anything but. Upon watching a little butterfly, a beautiful blue and bronze color, land on one of them, another one of my cruel smiles grew on my face. Shaking in agony, the butterfly soon fell limp after a moment had passed; this mutation reminded me of the Tracker Jacker's. Only of course, after testing with other types of creatures, it had been a guaranteed kill; none of them had survived contact. And as this arena had been built for human children, I daresay that it will work all too well on Jackson; serves him right, too.

Watching the boy walk closer and closer, the faint sound of footsteps reaches my ears again. Someone else is coming; biting down on my lip softly, all I have to do is trust that he falls into my perfectly placed trap. Tons of good hiding places are all around, just like the ones that I'd squeeze into with Janus…Funny, his name hadn't actually crossed my mind in years, and neither did my parents either. Though the Tribute is getting closer, the usual instinct to go and hide has pretty much vanished, leaving me standing out in the open. Lowering down into a crouch, it must have been at least a minute before I slip behind a particularly large cluster of stalagmites, pulling the hood of my coat over my head; red hair is the easiest hair color to remember, meaning that it's likelier to be noticed in my book. That's something that I should be the one to control, the one to choose when people are going to be allowed to see that I'm there…Janus had been the only exception of course…Tears almost brim out of my eyes, and I shakily realize what's happening…

_No! Don't come out now! _I mentally scream, hoping that the Other Me would stop and listen. _You've stayed quiet for weeks! We're in danger, don't come out! No….No….N-….o…._

A shaky breath is all that I allowed myself to take, trying to keep all of the mental walls that I had ever so carefully built from breaking down. My hands are shaking feverishly, my teal eyes widening, and all I can do is sit and watch as the Tribute finally greets my eyesight. If only Janus could have been here, I found myself wishing, biting into the inside of my cheek; a habit that set the two of me apart. Blood soon gushed out, telling me that the Other Me probably had started doing it as well, though I hadn't been able to tell after being cooped up for so long. In fact, the last time I had been in charge was right before the Bloodbath; the Other Me had called it akin to my final moments. Thankfully, she'd managed to keep us alive for now, though I could feel my ribcage a little more than I would have liked; I'd have to try and get a sponsor to send in food later. Gasping almost, the mental assault that she's giving me almost send me reeling, but I try my best to keep her out; I'm the real Wednesday, not her…That girl isn't real, she doesn't exist, it's just all in my head…She laughs mentally at that, insisting that we've always been in _our _head, that nothing Melinda tries to do is going to be able to stop that.

_Janus liked me better, 'Day. Robyn did too… _the Other Me taunts; my mental walls aren't nearly as good as they used to be. _And he always will, so why don't you go to sleep and let the real Wednesday take charge?_

Digging my fingers into my ears, the mental chatter doesn't seem to help at all. Memories are pouring out, all part of her dirty tricks and evil tactics to regain control; I'm not going to let her though. No one is going to take my own life away from me again, not even the Tribute standing a couple meters away from me, who I can dimly make out there form. Worry lines crease the girl's blonde forehead as she looks around frantically, as if there's some great distressing factor that she can't seem to figure out; I think her name is Adia. Softly, I let a whimper escape from me, trying to ease the severe mental pain that's erupting through me, growing stronger and stronger with each and every passing moment. While Adia turned her head slightly towards me, I don't think that she saw me at all, as she runs in the direction that Jackson had come; two daggers are clutched in her hands. The shininess of them reminds me of the little knife, the weapon that now resides inside of my sleeve, that way people won't be able to see it coming; the Other Me is clever, but that doesn't mean I'm letting her take back over.

_You won't be able to do it without me…_the Other Me hisses, briefly pulling the image of Janus to the front of my mind. Tufts of blonde hair swaying slightly in the wind, the trademarked smile of our family is on his lips, not unlike the one that a serial killer would have worn. Icy blue eyes, a purer color than my own teal ones, stared forward as if they already owned the world; in Janus' mind, he did. Shivering slightly, the Other Me changed the image of my older brother, meanwhile adding a threat as she did so. _He wouldn't want for you to get hurt, and I wouldn't want to be the one to break the news to him….It's all in your best interested, 'Day. _

A strangled cry escaped my throat, just when the walls finally slammed shut. Panting in the silence, I ran my hands over my hair, my nose, and my eyes, as if to check that they're really all there. That I'm still me, that I'm safe, and that I'm all right…Nervously looking around, all I can do is hope that no one had heard me, that no one else is going to be there. Unlike the last time, there isn't the blonde haired District Thirteen Tribute, appearing apprehensive, as if there's something insanely wrong with whoever her unfortunate ally ended up being; the Other Me might have harmed them. I shook my sleeve, causing the stiletto knife to fall to the floor, shinning up at me like the moon on the darkest night. Glancing at my own reflection, scratches and bruises covered my skin, yet the ghostly pale color of it, a rarity in the livestock District, still manages to stick out. Ginger hair rests in a rats nest, extremely unkempt and something that would have caused my mother to cringe; a small mental disturbance shakes me at that very thought. The Other Me wants back in, she wants to win the Hunger Games, and I…I just want to go home…Taking a deep breath, knowing that she had probably been right in the very first place, I let her in and closed my eyes.

Upon reopening them, a cruel smile graced my face, letting the entire country of Panem know that their favorite Wednesday remained in charge once again. That feeble and weak version wouldn't be messing up my performance anymore; she actually let me be the one in charge this time. Not like it had been all too hard, as the good one has severe claustrophobia; fear is always one of my favorite things, so I thrive off of the hammering heart beat that she's caused us to have. Touching it with my pale little hand, its reassuring presence prompts me to go exploring, to see exactly why Adia had been acting that way. But then again, it would be fun to watch the showdown that's bound to happen between her and Jackson; Adia probably just freaked out from the cannon fire from the Feast anyways. Losers from District Thirteen do it all the time, so it shouldn't be any concern to me at all.

Rising up from my crouch, the hood remaining over my hair so no one will see the color sticking out, I walk forward slowly. Despite the fact that I easily weighed only fifty pounds, probably even less than that, the ground here seems to amplify each and every single sound; probably designed by the Gamemakers to act that way. So many things in the Hunger Games are unreal like that, but it's not like the Capitol minds, and I don't really care either as it makes it harder for other Tributes to try and sneak up on me. Putting the ball of my foot down first minimizes the sound as well, moving me faster than I would have gone walking normally, even if it requires for me to bend my knees a little bit. According to Robyn, people used to walk like this when hunting; seems fitting for me to use it right now, as a cannon is probably going to be heard soon enough.

"I…I never thought it'd be like this…," a male voice, probably Jackson's, croaks out painfully.

Peering around the corner, the sight that greets me is one that sends several thrills. The girl from before, Adia, holds her arm at an awkward angle, which leads me to suspect that it had been broken. How fitting; the boy with the broken leg is fighting a girl with a now broken arm. Hoisting a dagger, Adia holds it inches away from Jackson's heart, sending more feelings of evil glee through me. This is better than the death I had planned out for the arrogant Career! That annoying sister of his, Mariah I think, is probably so angered right now! It's almost too hard to not break out cackling, to not scream to the heavens about how this is the true highlight of the Hunger Games; besides when I'm crowned Victor, of course.

"You're a Career," Adia frowns, shifting slightly so she could stab him better, "Your kind murders innocents each and every year. You should have known that only one could live…Morals state that it simply couldn't be you, Jackson. The odds were never in your favor!"

As if to punctuate Adia's sentence, Jackson's cannon fires off boldly. Blood now covers the dagger, but I decide to not trick this girl; the boy from District Five would be far more fun…Maybe he'd be able to make winning this game more of a challenge, but from the poor performance everyone else had been giving off so far, I doubt that he's going to be able to do so.

"Ready or not, Elezar," I whisper, running quietly down the tunnel, "Here I come…"

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Griffin Holloway: Shot with an arrow by Persei Baxwoll (D11)**

Leah Dagger:

**Jackson Leo Ross: Stabbed with a dagger after wrestling with Adia Loya (D13)**

**Malaya Finaca: Tortured and stabbed in the heart with a knife by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

**Axel Treefall: Sliced into pieces with a Japanese Long Sword by Griffin Holloway (D1)**

**Willa Hellmans:** **Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

Wednesday Vespers:

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

**Tetra Comn: Head butted and then stabbed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Jackson Leo Ross: I'm going to be honest here; you were my favorite member of the Career Pack. Always funny, joking around, and flirting with Cashmere made you stick out, contrasting with the jerky personalities of Griffin and Nicolas. Not to forget that you were the cowardly one, the one who would run if he didn't think that something would end up the way that he had wanted it to; that also set you aside. While you had trained for the Hunger Games, it had really been training to beat your father, to do something that he couldn't do. Well, as morbid as it is to say it, you just did Jackson…Anyways, you had a unique relationship with your sister, Mariah. Though you fought each other, deep down, all of us knew that you actually cared for her. People are going to miss you, and who knows, maybe Cashmere and you can work something out in the next world. Mariah, your parents, and I are going to be mourning you; may you rest in peace. **

**So this chapter is very complicated! Jet's POV, as I hope you realized, was all a freaky hallucination/nightmare that he had been having. But he did end up losing his sight in his left eye, because of an allergic reaction to the wound medicine...Complicated, I know... Wednesday's POV actually happened, and though it lines up slightly with what Jet had been saying, it's because reality blurred into his dream/hallucination. Adia really did hear someone coming near, which happened to be Jackson, who Wednesday was stalking…If it doesn't make sense, I'll try to explain it better in the next chapter! Also, please, please review! Only three people reviewed the last chapter, so I tried to make this one extra special in case that one had been boring…We're on the final seven Tributes! Tell me who you think is going to be the Victor somewhere in your review please! And finally, I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this story; you guys rock!**


	41. The Strawberry Field

_Wednesday Vespers (12), District Ten Female-POV_

Unfortunately, the boy from District Five seems to have disappeared from the arena. But that doesn't leave me without a target, as the second youngest Tribute left, the kid from District Eleven, happens to be walking around near me. Armed with a crossbow, I doubt that Persei even knows how to use it, meaning that he'll be a quick kill. After all, I managed to get rid of that Maya girl and stupid Cashmere; how could Persei be harder than a Career? The boy looks so weak, so paranoid, though I do admit that he has a right to be so; just about all of my victims met their dooms. Except for Elezar, I think with a small scowl, that annoying gypsy from District Five who managed to conceal himself oh so cleverly. Someone must have sent in tools for him to camouflage himself; there isn't enough water running around the arena, or berries, for him to be able to make some sort of paint. Whenever I did find him, which I know that I would be doing soon, as the Gamemakers like to have the Tributes kill each other for the finale, Elezar is going to pay for it. He's going to pay for making me waste my time on such a pompous, arrogant, fool! Had I not been stalking Persei, plotting out a vicious death for him as well, then I would have growled from frustration.

Back home, when it became apparent that one of the guard dogs wasn't going to be able to live much longer, Aunt and Uncle didn't really like putting it down. My cousin Melinda, a very ditzy girl, was always too squeamish to do it, so Robyn and I had made a game out of it. Whoever could do the quickest death possible won; if I played that game right now, with Persei being the dog, Robyn would win in a heartbeat. Even with only one knife to do the trick, I'll probably be able to swipe that nifty little crossbow from him in the process, providing me with another weapon to do the job with. Hopefully Persei has some food on me as well, as hunger keeps rippling through me; I better go back to my secret hideout soon enough.

Counting on my fingers, it takes me a moment to realize that there are only seven of us left. Only six more people need to die for me to achieve my ultimate victory, to finally win this game for sure; Robyn would be so proud of me. Janus would have been too…Lately, something keeps bringing thoughts of him back to the front of my mind, something that I'm not all too sure exactly how I'm supposed to explain it. Whatever it is, it's decided that I need to think of my dead brother, to remember the gruesome death that Robyn had given him; the only thing that I hated my cousin for. Closing my eyes, the flashes of blood and the tears come quickly back to my mind, making myself feel smaller and vulnerable, and the exact way that I had felt on that day. In an attempt to push the thoughts out of my mind, as it's going to hinder my performance, the bloody death of Persei Baxwoll, if I continue. Forcing myself to ponder more about who is still left alive in the arena, names and faces start to come back to me.

Griffin Holloway. Maya Finaca. Jackson Leo Ross. Tetra Comn.

All four of them had died yesterday; all four of them hadn't managed to survive a week in the Hunger Games. Straining my hearing for a moment, it's hard to hear Persei's footsteps, so I gather that it is safe for me to make a tiny bit of noise right now. Still, that's how I remain for the next couple minutes, as there's no way that I want my math to be off right now. Life and Death, it's one of my favorite games, one that I know enough to be careful not to lose; Janus hadn't been careful. Cackling slightly, I remember the supposed sickness that my parents had died from; another knife, like this one, had been instrumental in it. It brought thoughts of blood to my mind, remembering the way that the District Three girl had screamed, and the way that Cashmere stupid Combe had begged for mercy. Laughter grew louder and louder, knowing that everyone would be afraid of me now, the deranged twelve year old from District Ten; but they still hadn't learned their lesson. I had told them to be afraid of me, I had set it right from the very start, yet they continued to feel disbelief towards the simple fact.

_"People don't expect me...They think that I'm weak and tiny. But I'm the monster under the bed, come to life, and they, they have no chance against me...You can't attack what you can't see coming. And what you can't see coming is going to be your doom."_

Rolling my eyes in remembrance of the foolish looks I'd gotten after that statement, I found that I had actually paused in my tracks. That wasn't good, as it's been my turn for a while, and I shouldn't stop taking my turn while others are on the move. After all, nothing has befallen me that would cause any sort of plight; I continue to have the ability of moving the normal amount of spaces. Adia, however, I believed would only be able to move half of them; having a broken arm tends to take away from the game. And whenever that happens, disaster is spelled out for the player, meaning their utter and prompt defeat; defeat that I'm planning for her to receive by my hands. Eight kills isn't the number that I'm looking for; I would have preferred something much, much higher. But then again, it would certainly be more than anyone else in this arena, placing me at the top of the score list for this game; I smile, appearing innocent, at that very thought.

Moving forward once more, the thoughts of my dead brother continue to plague my mind. The way that he used to smile, scoop me off of my bed and show me some fantastic treasure that he had found. Once again, the oddity of tears is brimming in my eyes, which I quickly wipe away; it must have been the Other Me's doing. Hatred towards the evil alter persona grew within me, causing the images of Janus to distort in my mind; once again, all of the Other Me's fault. It wasn't fair at all that she chose to continue existing, to have done nothing when Robyn committed that dastardly deed; I'd refused to speak with him for a long time after that. Images of the flames, the coughing and the screaming grew within my mind, causing the shaky tear to slide down my cheek. Even if they were real, I found myself not caring anymore, as there isn't quite anything to care about besides winning this game; let them think that I'm weak.

Let them think that I'm weak.

Let them think that I'm easy.

Let them think that I'm scared.

Let them think that I'm weary.

And let them die by my hands…

_ "Oh, look who cared to show up," Janus stated arrogantly, "Robyn Vespers…"_

_ Robyn had a mask of expressionless upon him, completely blank as he stared towards my cousin. Nodding slightly, the rusty sword that resided in his hands gleamed as much as he could, sending thrills of excitement through Janus and me. A duel; this would surely be interesting! Prancing across the room, the little dagger that I had used on my parents remains in a little pouch; it wouldn't be of any use soon enough. Staying in its own sheath, the weapon that Janus had also used on our parents waits; it too must be excited. Quickly grabbing it, my cousin's mask is broken as he smiles slightly at me, in which I smirk cruelly in return. Upon standing next to him, Janus breaks out into a grin, taking the weapon with a proclamation of thanks. _

_ "Janus Alonzo Vespers. I, Robyn Alecto Vespers, challenge you to a fight to the death!" Robyn barks, back to looking bored and not amused like he normally does. _

_ "Really?" Janus asks, his voice going high in feverish excitement, "Are you serious, cousin?"_

_ Whipping out his weapon, his own rust covered sword to attention, Robyn nodded slightly towards Janus in reply. The feverish gleam in my brother's eyes increased, letting the blue orbs turn intense, staring towards the similarly colored ones of my cousin. Soon enough, only one of them would remain alive, and deep down, I already knew that Janus would prove to be the winner. He'd told me all about how Robyn couldn't fight to save his life, relying on the attack dogs that covered the large piece of land Aunt and Uncle owned; my brother detested them for that. While they lived the high life, the two of us remained in the small town house, earning money by sharpening tools for the District citizens. That's how we'd obtained our tools; one of the old Victors had wanted them fixed, but died before we could return them to him. Oh well, ours now…_

_ "I never thought you would ask!" Janus exclaimed, pulling the dusty sword out of its sheath._

_ All that could be heard was the crackling of the fire, the occasional piece of paper coming out of it with a burst. Robyn didn't intent to make a vocal reply, instead charging forward towards my brother. Holding my breath in awe, I sunk backwards as to be out of harm's way, positive that Janus would be the winner of this battle. Nothing could harm him, nothing at all; he's practically invincible. A creature made out of stone, moving when people blink, and stealing them away before they could even notice. Watching the entire fight just made it stronger in my mind, creating a firmer idea of the way that the world worked; I loved my brother. _

_ But right when I spared the time to blink, to glance out of the window to see what the time of day it was, that's when it happened. Thunder started booming, abruptly sending rain crashing down upon our District; a large portion of it managed to go down the wide chimney. Our fire started to splutter, creating dark shadows to file across the room; the shadow of a young man, sword held high in the air, caught my attention all too well. Plunging downwards, a strangled cry filled the air, one of disbelief and anger. Robyn should have known what was…_

_ "Janus!" I screamed, sprinting over to him as far as I could, tears streaming down my face, "You can't be…you just can't!"_

_ Crimson blood covered Janus' white and purple garments, forcing the image to remain one in my mind forever. Spluttering out words that I couldn't understand, while Robyn remained with the sword hilt raised to strike; this couldn't have been real. My brother had been the one to win the fight, not my cousin…Janus even had the age advantage! Nothing could have stopped him, just nothing…_

_ "You can't leave me!" I screeched, clutching his hand like I was the one who was dying, "I don't want to be alone!"_

_ Janus shook his head, smiling softly as blood surged out of his chest, "No…now…S-Say…it…one…last…time…"_

_ Bowing my head, Janus' last wish rang true in my mind. He'd always enjoyed it when I said it, no matter how many times a day that it happened. If there was anything that my brother loved, it would be feeling important; of course, there really wasn't any need to keep on telling him that he was. Right now, all that I felt was a burning hatred towards Robyn, wishing that I could slice him into ribbons with my knife. Beautiful, cruel, and painful red ribbons…If Janus had not been dying, then I would have smirked at the very thought; a smirk that I didn't wear all too often. _

_ Despite the fact that I could feel Robyn's eyes on my back, I whispered the words to my dying brother, "Yes, your highness…"_

Wiping the tear from my eye, the image of Janus' limp form remained foremost in my mind. As of such, the fact that I ended up in the hatch room, the room that led to my secret hideout almost seemed to escape my mind. My previous marking from before, a lone spearhead, remained undisturbed on the ground; no one else had found this place yet. Irritably, I couldn't help but notice that I'd lost Persei, meaning that yet another Tribute had managed to beat me at this game for now. Whatever, I huffed, marching forward towards the latch. It looked slightly disturbed, with no reassuring coat of dust, but it must have been the bats or something; the spearhead already confirmed that no one else had been down here yet.

Briefly, it crossed my mind that Persei may have been up there. Stalking and hiding were two of my greatest assets, but the thoughts of my brother were easy to upset me; the little coward gets a lucky break for that. Soon enough, I'll be shredding him to ribbons, laughing and grinning the entire time; slowly, I started to feel like my morbid yet awesome self again. Beautiful ribbons, the very sight of them would send shivers down my spine, drawing out the cackling laugh that I've come to associate with utmost pleasure. Squeezing through the tiny metal space, which tipped upward and hid the ladder to the outside from view of everyone else, I began the daring climb.

Silence rang throughout, something that bored me only slightly; it took about half an hour to get this high. The metal rungs would eventually rub on your hands, making it painful to the touch, but I knew that the reward would be worth it. In fact, this wouldn't be the first time that I had come this way; it also wasn't the first time with the absence of a hammering heart. Stagnant air quickly left my lungs the higher I went up, part of the reason that I enjoyed this so much; fresh air helped a lot when it came to playing the game. None of the other Tributes would get that advantage, unless they were smart enough to look inside of the bags the Gamemakers had given us. Of course, those stupid people wouldn't have the faintest idea of what to do with the oxygen masks; they probably didn't even realize what was going to happen. But then again, it's not like it's my problem at all either; it'll be fun to watch them suffocate in agony, begging for the release of my knife. Not that they would get it of course, since I've always been one to drag things out, to give a real show, instead of something being quick and painless. The last girl, Finaca, would have gotten a more painful death, had the prospect of being heard weighing heavily upon my choices.

"_The full moon slightly chipped  
That's so me  
So please  
Save me and hold me tight  
Just make me all right  
Under the dark clouds  
Wingless swans in my soul  
From the fortress, a pessimist_

_My howl in the night,_  
_To the isolated star_  
_Don't drive me crazy_  
_Everything seems too far_  
_The sky so deep_  
_Spread endlessly_

_How on earth can I get to the strawberry field?_

_The full moon slightly chipped_  
_Uncertain_  
_Oh please_  
_Save me and let me smile_  
_Just make me all right_  
_Over the bed of trees_  
_My heart spins around_

_My howl in the dawn_  
_To the isolated star_  
_I dare to forgive you_  
_Everything seems too far_  
_But care for me tenderly_

_How on earth can I get to the strawberry field?"_

I sung quietly; it had been Janus' favorite.

I didn't know why I kept thinking of him lately, re-imagining his death in horrible and twisted ways. Ways that I would want to try out on the other Tributes in this arena, I mentally scolded myself for the slight weakness. After I retrieved my mace, all it would take is a bit of sneaking around to get the rest of them down for the count, even if none of them did try and off each other. Really, they're trapped like rats, and unfortunately for them, I just happen to be the one smart enough to be able to pick a lock. Not really though, it's all metaphorically speaking…Scowling, I try to tell myself to stop talking when I'm the only person that's there, that it's just going to give away my location, but I can't help but murmur the last few stanzas under my breath over and over again. Not like anyone that matters is going to be able to see it, as the cameras are probably getting shots of the weak and cowering Tributes, knowing that I'll be declared the Victor soon enough. A close up of my teal eyes, alight with joy with a subtle touch of fury, would do very nicely for a close-up; I'll kill them as well if they don't manage to do it.

"That's a sad song…," a male voice called out, snapping me out of my thoughts faster than could have been possible.

Peeking down through the little opening, where I would crawl through to finally be greeted with the fresh air, was none other than Persei. Armed with a crossbow, an arrow firmly notched and aimed, it felt as if he had been giving me a choice. _Go back down or I'll shoot. _Grimacing, neither of the options were ones that suited my pleasure at all, so false tears sprung to my eyes; maybe someone would buy the innocent twelve year old act again. Sniffling, now crying very loudly, I mumbled phrases under my breath, at least ten pleases and seven apologies for silly things that I had never done. This type of strategy would surely work, as the kid is only fourteen; fourteen year olds usually tend to have a soft spot for things that look cute.

"I know what you are, Wednesday," Persei stated plainly, "You're a Career. You're just as bad as the Minotaur had been…One way or another, Wednesday, you'll be going down…"

Ceasing the tears instantly, even I know when I'm beaten. Honestly, when it came down to this, I had always figured that it would be a little more climatic. That there would be a little more action, that the intense situation is something that I would be able to feel rolling off in waves. Instead, I'm relatively calm, already having decided my choice before I had even made it. Perhaps I had lost this game before I had even begun, that I had lost the ability to keep on moving the same number of spaces long, long ago. A shiver of repulsion ran through me; Robyn wouldn't be all too pleased with my performance anymore. Yet for some reason, the opinion of the boy who had killed my brother weighed heavily upon me, just like the opinion of the Other Me sometimes caused myself to become conflicted. Melinda should have been the one to enter this game; she would still be able to move the correct amount of spaces. Another wave of repulsion ripples through me, causing me to nearly gag as my response to Persei; that ditzy girl wouldn't have lasted a minute in the arena.

"I'm not going to lose to you," I response, strangely feeling calm right now, "You can only move half of the spaces…You lost too many turns to win, Persei."

Letting go of the ladder, no prickling sense of fear accompanied the sound of rushing wind. I might as well have been sitting in a chair, watching someone else fall to their death. Judging from the amount of time it took me to get up here, it's going to be a while until I hit the ground; a while until I'm out of this game for good. Nothing short of a miracle would be able to save me now, with probably all of my sponsors having already deserted me; they don't want to sponsor me anymore. They only want to help winners, but from the shocked expression on Persei's face, I'd already figured out something no one else had done. The only way to win this game is to lose; the only way to live is to die. Moving half the spaces doesn't matter anymore, as the feeling of weightlessness leaves me ripe with elation.

"I'm going to win, Persei!" I taunt, "You were dead before you even started!"

Peels of laughter is the main sound that I hear, echoing through this monstrous drop. What would Robyn be thinking right now? He wouldn't understand that I had finally realized how one truly wins this game, how one could truly claim victory and honor. Stretching my hand out, my fingernails create a slight trail on the metal bars, briefly reminding me that I didn't have to go out right now. That all it would take is grabbing on, yanking myself out of this plummet; returning me to the list of potential Victors.

_"Yes, your highness…." "Sweet dreams, Cashmere." "Nighty-night, Maya Finaca of District Three." "You were dead before you even started!" "And what you don't see coming is going to be your doom." "R-R-Rock me…" "You should have known that, little Miss Ugly…" "You know how children are with their games. We like to end them. We play to win." "It's not my problem that you're too weak…I'll __make this especially _fun_, just for you!" "You never loved me…I always hated you! And now, I'm going to finish what you started, mother dearest!" "Oh…does it hurt? Let me…_help_…" "You can only move half the spaces…"_

How on earth can I get to the strawberry field?

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Griffin Holloway: Shot with an arrow by Persei Baxwoll (D11)**

Leah Dagger:

**Jackson Leo Ross: Stabbed with a dagger after wrestling with Adia Loya (D13)**

**Malaya Finaca: Tortured and stabbed in the heart with a knife by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Elezar Brewen:

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

**Axel Treefall: Sliced into pieces with a Japanese Long Sword by Griffin Holloway (D1)**

**Willa Hellmans:** **Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

**Wednesday Vespers: Fell to her death after letting go of the ladder (suicide)**

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

**Tetra Comn: Head butted and then stabbed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

Adia Loya:

Jet Newton:

* * *

**Wednesday Vespers: I really put off writing this part, mainly because you were actually my own Tribute. Because of the way you acted, each time that I was about to kill you off, you managed to keep calm and find a way out of the situation. During the Bloodbath, Jackson had been about to kill you, when you managed to pull the spearhead out of the bag. During the Feast, I planned for Malaya to kill you, but a sponsor had taken a shine to you and sent in that bandage. Now, don't go thinking that you weren't the only Tribute like that; tons of the Tributes in the 175****th**** had a longer life than I expected them to have. And now, when only seven Tributes were left, I knew that this is where you had to stop. You were never allowed to win the Hunger Games, Wednesday, but you grew up during it. You realized how to truly win your morbid little game, and remember the pain that Robyn had put you through; you remembered Janus. Somehow, you knew that your time had come, the reason that you kept thinking about your brother. What I'm trying to say is, Wednesday, you're an extremely creative and intelligent little girl. But even after death, I'm positive that you and Janus will manage to find that strawberry field; may you rest in peace. **

**Very depressing chapter or at least it had been from my perspective. Like I said, my Tributes aren't allowed to win the Hunger Games; they merely have a personality that I found none of the other forms had. Originally, Wednesday wasn't going to be the only death in this one, but as it turned out so long and I didn't update yesterday, it's going to be split into two parts. After the next chapter, Head Gamemaker Datura Gremlin is going to be shutting down sponsoring for the rest of the games; if you have points, now is the time to use them. Sorry for not updating yesterday, my Tae Kwan Do school had belt testing, and as an instructor, I had to go in to grade people. Bleh…I really hate it, mainly because I always get one person who's forgotten everything they learn and I have to put down one thing nice…Anyways…Only one person on my poll didn't want me to write Sunken Hopes next, but for the rest of the Hunger Games, it's going to be about your favorite Tribute! It may or may not be the one you think will win….As always, happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!**


	42. Titanium

_Adia Loya (16), District Thirteen Female-POV_

Just like the day before, the two of us remain hunched down by a wall. With only six Tributes left, most people would have broken off their alliance by now, but not Jet and I. Having formed it spontaneously during the Feast, it would be silly to stop aiding each other right after it had begun; chances are, someone is going to kill one of us soon enough. Two daggers, two knives, two oxygen masks, and a small sword, which I think was called a khopesh, remained to be our only supplies. Instead of going out to seek food, we'd decided to hibernate for a bit; you couldn't feel the hunger if you were asleep. Still, that didn't stop Jet's feverish nightmares, in which he kept calling out for someone. He talked like a little boy in his sleep, I recalled with a slight smile, always asking for mommy and for daddy; I almost wished he'd tell me his real story.

"How much longer do you think we'll be in here?" I ask, trying to break the uneasy silence that has developed between us.

Yesterday, some happy Capitol person had sent in supplies to fix up Jet's eye. Sounds good, right? Well, the unfortunate result had been that Jet had some sort of allergic reaction to it, probably because no one had bothered to wonder about that before. Just goes to show the idiocy of some people in the Capitol; had Fabian been in charge, it would have been one of the very first things that he had done before sending it in. That thought sent a shiver down my spine, making me glad that I hadn't said it out loud, in case the Capitol decided to further punish the Loya family by putting it into reality. They'd already done that to my father, forcing him to train the army, which happened to be the only feelings of resentment that I had felt towards him; it wasn't at all his fault though.

"Maybe a day or so," Jet replied plainly, still poking at his left eye.

"You should leave it alone, you know," I chastised, "It's not going to get any better with you jabbing at it all day long…"

Shaking his head at me, as if I'm a small child that didn't know any better, Jet continued touching at it. This just proved to exasperate me, making me want to go over to him and force him to stop. If I hadn't been in pain from the extreme hunger, then I would have done so. Growing up in my family, I didn't realize until now that I didn't know how to be hungry, that just missing food for a day would send trembling all over my body. Letting out a slight sigh, there's no way that I'm going to be able to tell Jet that, as it doesn't seem to affect him in the very slightest. Maybe there'd still be a couple of crumbs in the Cornucopia cavern, which I don't think is all too far from here; neither of us were in good shape to move all too far that day. A nasty gash ran up my arm, the very one that Jackson had broken; we didn't have the material to fix it. Sleeping last night had been positively miserable, especially since no one at all had sent in any aid; all I had to use was a mask and a dagger. It didn't make me feel entirely too good about my odds of surviving the Hunger Games.

But then again, some of the Victors turned out to be people that you wouldn't expect. In fact, that actually happened a lot; hopefully I'll be one of those cases. Grimacing a bit at the greenish tinge the wound had taken on; I briefly think back to the underground lake that I had spotted nearby. It would be all too easy to just jump in it, washing out the wound before it could get even more infected; it may very well save my arm. Having an arm is going to be needed if I'm going to be able to make it out of here, just like being able to see or being able to breathe is. Glancing over towards Jet, he's still poking at the still eye, the pupil focusing off into nowhere, and I almost cringe at the sight of it. While he may not be able to see anything out of it, the bandage had kept me from nearly losing what very little food I had each time I glanced over at him. Once again, it's not something that I'm planning to tell him about; until I know his true story, I don't completely trust him. There's just always been something off about him, something that didn't quite add up, and to say it didn't unnerve me would be a downright lie.

"Then we should go hunting," I mention, shifting my glance towards him, and hoping that my light blue eyes don't look all too desperate, "We're going to need food if we want to even think about making it to the finale."

Finally, Jet stops poking at his eyes, listlessly fidgeting before making his reply. Repeating my sentence, in case he'd misunderstood it for some reason, the one good eye reflects intent thought. It shouldn't have been too hard to choose between eating and starving, though he may not have been all too optimistic about our chances of finding food in this arena. Tributes that were excellent with a bow or a slingshot would have been sitting comfortably, eating the remains of vampire bats; I couldn't help but feel envy for them. They had an easy time with food here, all because of their weapon choice, while I had started to starve. Those loaves of bread I had been sent didn't last long either, as I'd had to abandon them during the Feast, or else risk losing my life at the hands of Leah in the process. Being alive sounded better than being dead in my book; anyone who thought differently must have been raised in the Capitol.

"Fine. I'll go east and you go west. No discussions," Jet practically orders, scooping up his khopesh; he leaves the daggers for me to use.

"All right," I reply, barely able to contain my glee at the prospect of finally filing my stomach.

Gripping the handles of the twin daggers, it almost takes too much strength to keep my hands from trembling. If Jet knew how weakened I'd become, besides the obvious wounds to my arms, there's no more reason that he would wish to ally with me. He wouldn't want to have a partner who couldn't go a day without food, a partner who never really learned how to be hungry. For a second, the thoughts of the Capitol paycheck my father receives drifts through my mind; ironically, it's my sponsors fault that I'm reacting like this inside of the arena. And though it is a hard connection to make, it grows stronger and stronger in my mind from the initial yet subtle ring of truth it held. Wincing slightly, the pain in my arm grows apparent once again, meaning that I'll only be able to take one dagger with me; just _great_.

Awkwardly getting to my feet, Jet doesn't even blink an eye as I stick one of the daggers back into the belt. By now, the sheath isn't in the greatest shape, scratched and marred from the various fights that Jet had gotten himself into; fights that he hadn't cared to talk about with me. Once again, I would be lying if I said it didn't bother me at all; he was just too much of an enigma to be dismissed as a common orphan, wandering around the streets of District Thirteen. Positively, there would have been some occasion for me to have seen him, as no one has exceptional skills with weapons unless they're trained to use them. While I trained with the Capitol army, there must have been some other source that Jet had gone to, some other way that he managed to be so deadly and yet remain elusive. Trying to push these thoughts aside didn't help either, as the only other thing that I could force myself to focus on had been the pangs of hunger. If I had accepted District Thirteen's customary invitation into the Careers, then I probably wouldn't have been injured in the very slightest right now; I would have been dead. Trained Tributes from my District tend to do well in the Career Pack, but as Leah is the only living member right now, I daresay that they had some organizational problems in this year. Which, sadly, means that the next year's Career Pack is going to be the most lethal killing machine that anyone had ever seen; it was just the pattern. On years that they fail, the next group is determined to do even better, causing them to work like a team and be highly effective. But on the years that they succeed, such as last year when District One won, the next group is a bit lax, thinking that they'll have an easy victory. I suppose, that just means that we'll have an underdog Victor this year; the odds may very well be in my favor.

Turning my back towards Jet, the feeling of someone watching me is prominent, so I try to lift up my chin slightly. I am not going to be looking weak in front of him, as it takes determination to win the Hunger Games, and with only five more people standing in my way, victory is almost within my grasp. For a moment, I consider the possibility that I've changed over the course of time, that I'm not the same Adia from before, but I brush it aside. If I had been acting different, then I wouldn't have felt repulsed when Jet jabbed at his useless eye or the fury when I had finally taken Jackson's life. The Careers are the most despicable people in this place; conceited and arrogant, they enjoy ripping away the life from young and innocent children. Yet another reason that I had refused to join them, even if Vortexa and Obsidian had done that to win their Hunger Games; a couple things were more important than winning. If I had to go against my sense of morality, if I had to enjoy the idea of killing people, that wasn't something that I wanted to be remember for. That wasn't something that just caused me to grin with ecstasy; it was something that caused me to turn a soft green shade.

Eventually, I could hear his own quiet footsteps, meaning that he had already started on his own quest for food. Fortunately, the direction I was headed towards would take me to the Cornucopia, where a couple of delicious morsels may remain. A couple slices of bread, drippings of apple sauce, and a piece of an avocado; just about anything could be littering the floor. Of course, I'd have to split it evenly with Jet, but I'm sure that it shouldn't take me all too much food to fill out my belly. There's no way that I can have so much of a disadvantage towards the other kids, by not knowing how to be hungry and all, since it's not really logical. Strength and mental skills is what you need to survive the Hunger Games, not practice starving over the course of several years; it just sounded a bit silly in general. But then again, I suppose that's why they called it the Hunger Games…Sighing again, I couldn't help but go through the list of all the delicious food they had to offer at the Feast, and hope that there would be enough left for us.

After about ten minutes or so of walking, the steel door that separated the tunnels reared its ugly head. They didn't really use these in mines, but I remember that something similar had been used in Old District Thirteen, the smoldering remains of what my District had grown from. Some people had considered calling us District Fourteen because of it, though the general location and all had remained the same, so we kept the same District number that we had since the Dark Days. Those sorts of facts were required learning in our schools, even if the Capitol didn't exactly like it when people kept on talking about the rebellion. Weird, that's really the only word for it, as it's the exact opposite of what one would have expected to occur. And as I pushed open the metal door, the same thing happened, just in a different way; someone was already there.

"Hello, Adia," Elezar Brewen, the boy from District Five said softly, "According to destiny, the time has come for one thing to end and another to begin. I see the same in all of the others, in fact, I have finally obtained the eternal knowledge…It is all too simple now, something that had been puzzling before, yet now is as easy as arithmetic. As easy as breathing, if you like…"

"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling shaky as I took a small step towards the boy, "This isn't about finding spiritual peace, you know. It's all about survival."

Somehow, it didn't feel like I had been the one to say those words. A survivalist, a warrior, someone who had been fighting for far too long had said them. Someone else narrowed their eyes slightly, gripping the dagger a bit tighter in their hands; I wasn't the one who analyzed Elezar for any weaknesses. Bony and looking malnourished, he probably had known how to be hungry, and from looking at the direction he was standing, I could accurately pick out his camp. Elezar had been hiding in the Cornucopia the entire time; he'd been hiding in plain sight. No one had even thought to go look in their, meaning that each one of us could have been taken out had he been equipped with a bow. Fortunately, there wasn't a single weapon on him; meaning that he would be easier to take down. Already, my body had recognized him as a threat, my brain beginning to calculate, all before my heart had even been able to assess what truly was going on here. For all I knew, Elezar just wanted a friendly chat, a little bit of human interaction, and I'd already decided on the exact way that I was going to kill him; because of survival instinct, I felt absolutely horrible.

"For you, that may be," Elezar replied, nodding slightly; I didn't notice him take a step forward as well, "But for me, this is merely a test of my faith. A test of my knowledge of the workings of the universe, and one that I do intend to pass. Because of this, I must hope that you understand; the river of fate is commanding me to do this."

Before I had time to do anything but scream, knowing that no one except for Jet would be able to hear me, I felt Elezar's hands gripping my neck. Surprisingly strong for his structure, oxygen was prevented from flowing into my body; this was going to be painful. I struggled to free myself, moving each of my arms, but it seemed to be in vain; he'd already started to swing me like a ragdoll. The walls that had felt comforting once upon a time, keeping everyone from knowing where I was, didn't feel exactly like my best friend anymore. Repeatedly, Elezar slammed my entire body into them, the rocks jutting into my skin; all feeling in the injured arm started to fade. All that it did was make it easier to concentrate on the pounding headache, to hear the thud echoing inside of my skull; I had thought the migraines that heat had given me were bad.

_ Thud. Thud. Thud. _That's pretty much the only thing that I could hear anymore, even though I could tell that Elezar's mouth had been forming words. There wasn't anything apologetic in his expression, which most people probably would have expected from a spiritualist, but it actually helped a bit. It reminded me that to get out of here, I'm going to have to kill someone. In a twisted way, Elezar isn't any different from the Careers; it would be out of self defense to kill him. Taking a painful breath, something wet started running down my back, letting me know that my area of time was becoming smaller and smaller; I had to do something now. Fumbling with the grip on the dagger, a shriek escaped my lungs as I used all my strength to plunge the dagger forward, hoping that I'd connect with flesh. Vaguely, I'm aware that the pounding as slowed down, that the dagger is stuck inside of something; it's too hard to pull it out.

"Fabian?" I whisper dazedly, aware that a loud booming noise has just sounded off next to me.

Slumped against the wall, it may have been two seconds or a week since Elezar had stopped slamming. My head started reeling, spinning in circles as I tried to make sense of what had happened. Pounding noises come towards me again, a dim outline accompanying them. Nothing looks the same anymore, with the Cornucopia distorted like the mirrors in a carnival might have done; I smiled at the thought of the merry events. I liked carnivals, especially the ones with the…

_"No! Adia! Don't…just…don't die on me!"_

Someone lifts up my chin, but all I can do is smile weakly. All I can do is try not to collapse into a heap. And all I can remember is a dark haired boy, begging me to stay with him…But as soon as my eyes slid shut, he should have known that I was already gone…That it was too late for me now….

_Jet Newton (16), District Thirteen Male-POV_

By the time that I had heard someone scream, I should have known that I would be too late. I should have known that someone would attack Adia, that she wouldn't have been able to defend herself with that broken arm and infected cut. Just about anyone here would have been able to take her out, even the little girl from District Ten, when she was in that sort of state. Berating myself over and over for my mistake, all I could think about is her last word. _Fabian? _Adia had been asking for her brother, something that I wouldn't be able to give her before she had died; it hurt more than it should have for not being able to fulfill that simple task. Still, as I held her limp and bloodied body in my arms, I couldn't help but wish that I had finally told her the truth one day. That I had been able to tell her the simple knowledge that she had always wanted to know.

"I'm so sorry, Adia…," I murmured, brushing the hair of a girl who could never open her eyes again, "I should have told you…I should have told you that I…loved you…"

What was I saying? It hadn't been anything close to what I had been regretting, but the words fit so easily into place. It felt so natural to say so; it felt so natural to say that I loved Adia Loya; that I wanted to make her mine. Only when people die did I tend to realize how much I had cared for them, how much I was going to miss them, and how much I needed to learn. If I had been faster, then maybe I could have saved her. Maybe the girl of my dreams, no, not my dreams, my life, wouldn't have been lying dead in my arms. Really, I shouldn't have been too preoccupied with my own problems; I should have listened.

_ "You're wrong, Jet. I'll prove it to you…"_

Amber curls; I could just picture the sad blue eyes looking towards me. River had been trying to tell me this before, to hold on tight to chances and to not dwell in the past, but I hadn't listened. I hadn't listened to what Adia had been trying to tell me, I hadn't listened to my heart; all because of fear. All I'd been feeling had been fear, causing others to continue to fall around me, the numbers increasing the longer that I had gone on. Initially, I had blamed it on them getting too close to me, for them trying to worm their way into my heart, and succeeding to become someone that I had started to care about. But now, all I could think about is how I held them too far away, that I didn't appreciate the chances for rebirth that life had constantly been giving me. Just like all the times before, it proved to have been too late…It's too late for Adia…It's too late for my mother…It's too late for my father…It's too late for me…

_ "Please…D-Don't k-k-kill my baby boy!"_

Slowly, I moved my left hand up to Adia's face. Blonde hair, tangled in a way that just screamed beautiful, she had been all too young to die this way. Light blue eyes were left wide, left looking scared and vulnerable for the rest of existence; it was my entire fault that it had happened. Deer in the headlights, that's the expression on her eyes, but a slight smile remained on her perfectly sculpted face; hopefully, she'd been thinking of something happy before she had died. Happy thoughts can go a long way, I've learned, even if they've tended to avoid me lately; they avoided me now as well. Raising my hand, a coating of dirt covered it, as I tenderly closed Adia's eyes. Now, she looked as if she might have been sleeping, as if this had all been a horrible and twisted nightmare; shuddering slightly, I remember the one I had been experiencing the other day.

_ "Why do you want to live?"_

_ "Why do you want to die?"_

Gently placing Adia down on the ground, I have no intentions of leaving the area left. The hovercraft is just going to have to wait this one last time, instead of upholding their schedules as I'm sure they're all too concerned about. Right now, people should be shamed for having put Adia in this situation, for having risked her life at all. Feeling like I'm built out of titanium, I turn my gaze towards the corpse of Adia's attacker; the boy from District Five, the person who had earned the top training score. Seems that he actually did have some skills to boast, as besides the stab wound created from the dagger, very little scratches mar his body; there's going to be some disappointed sponsors for sure. A sad smile graces my lips, examining the damage that Adia had managed to cause, even when the life had been rapidly fading from her; she was a little spitfire after all.

_"Are you going to sit there brooding all night long?"_

Yanking the dagger out of Elezar's body, blood covers it all the way up to the hilt; it's not dried yet either. Part of me wants to destroy this corpse, to take out all of my anger on it, to make him pay for taking away the life of someone who hadn't done any harm. Sure, she'd taken out Jackson, but that hadn't been her fault at all; that idiot Career had been the one that attacked her. Decidedly, this is what it felt like to truly hate the world; I'd only felt mild discomfort before in comparison. Gritting my teeth, all I permit myself is to send the dagger flying across the room; I didn't even need to look to see how it had became perfectly impaled into the wall. One cannon too many had fired off today, one Tribute had died that should have never even come to the arena in the first place. The Master must have been laughing his head off right now, having found some way to orchestra the whole bloody ordeal; he still wanted to have complete control over me. Frowning, I shoved those thoughts from my mind, knowing that it was probably the way that he wanted me to act.

"You wanted me to be scared!" I accused, screaming up at the ceiling, with only two corpses and the entire country of Panem to hear me, "But I'm not scared anymore! Not at all!"

His piercing blue eyes, lips curling back into a sneer; all of it became an image that I'd learned to be my owner. Tall and slim, with a black buzz cut, all of it screamed military power and might. But right now, there isn't anything that he could do to me; I'm one of the final four Tributes in a Quarter Quell. Ironically, this is probably the safest place in the world for me to be at the time, given that all of the sponsors are going heads over heels. Betting is intensifying, with probably a large portion of people becoming poor with the deaths of Elezar and Adia…At least it hurt them in some way, when she lost her life; they'll still pay for what they've done. All of them are going to pay eventually, one way or another; I'm going to make sure of it. No one is going to be sitting in their beds peacefully tonight, at least not in District Five and certainly not in the Capitol. Originally, none of the Districts felt to be any different to me, but now, now I knew that there was one that I would never want to visit. I doubted that I need to name it either; theirs will be the very worst part of the Victory Tour.

"You should have known better than to try and control me, _Master_!" I sneered, standing up to my full height, "All of those years of pain and suffering weren't for nothing! I became stronger and stronger! Nothing is going to make me fall now, nothing short of a nuclear explosion! So go on, try and play your little mind games, they're not going to work anymore! Because I'm free! I'm finally and truly free from you!"

Lapsing into silence, the single dagger remained in my left hand, with the khopesh in my right. Anyone that took me on right now would surely die, causing there to just be two more people in between me and my victory. I've already decided that I'm going to win this thing, not for me, but for Adia; a girl who had her life robbed from her viciously. The Master had already stolen my life from me, something that I finally managed to take back, causing me to feel more alive than I ever had before. A rumbling noise breaks me out of those thoughts for a moment, causing me to look around as chunks of rock fell off of the ceiling. Gulping slightly, I forced myself to remain upright, knowing that this is probably just another one of those horrible nightmares. That just in a minute, I'm going to wake up back into another horrible reality, a reality where just like in this one, Elezar had killed Adia in one of the most brutal ways possible. I'd wake up next to the faded looking bag, stuffed with an oxygen mask for whatever sick finale that Gamemakers had came up with; it didn't cross my mind once that this may very well have been it.

On some of my visits to District Twelve, people had talked about how cave-ins could happen deep inside of the mines. Of course, that didn't mean that the Gamemakers were going to have something like that happen; it would ruin the arena completely. People wouldn't be able to come back and tour it, one of the pleasures that the people of the Capitol practically need to live. Not to mention, it would become incredibly difficult to fish the Victor out of this mess; I didn't pause to think about how much more advanced their technology was compared to that of the Districts. My hammering heart must have been from how realistic it looked, from the way Elezar's eyes stared lifelessly up at the trembling ceiling, or how the doors seemed to groan under an enormous pressure. Turning behind me, I watched as the door leading back to my little backpack vanished under a heap of rock, causing more panic to arise within me. This couldn't have been real….This is just another one of those horrible dreams; I'm going to wake up safe and sound in a matter of minutes.

A falling stalactite almost glides down my arm, leaving a sickening trail of blood; the part that catches my attention is the pain that it's causing. Just as another one comes down towards me, the panic that I had been feeling must have been real; they were really collapsing the arena. Millions of rocks, each of them with cruel looking jagged edges came chasing down towards me; it was impossible to dodge each and every one of them. No matter how hard I tried, one of the rocks scraped me, causing yet another trail of blood to start to flow. But as to not give the Capitol the satisfaction of watching me scream, I kept my mouth shut and my face impassive; I would not be treated like another one of their toys to throw away when they grew tired with it.

_ "We can escape. We can be free."_

Adverting my gaze to the rocky ceiling, which continued to crumble around me, those words felt truer than they ever had before. No one forced me to make choices anymore, no one yelled and demanded me that I do something; no one did anything anymore. If I was to run right now, it would be purely off of my own survival instincts, and if I was to just stay put, no one had any say in it either. Sure, they could influence what I did, but that didn't mean that I had to let them succeed all of the time. They had tried to give me back my sight, yet it is now that I'm seeing the world for what it truly is and what it truly was. Taking my final breath, I gazed intently towards the body of Adia, knowing that she'd made her choice too; everyone has to make their own choices sometimes. And right as a huge chunk came sailing down towards me, those thoughts ran through me head once more, even if the time for making a decision had already come.

I'm finally free...

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Griffin Holloway: Shot with an arrow by Persei Baxwoll (D11)**

Leah Dagger:

**Jackson Leo Ross: Stabbed with a dagger after wrestling with Adia Loya (D13)**

**Malaya Finaca: Tortured and stabbed in the heart with a knife by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Elezar Brewen: Stabbed with a dagger by a dying Adia Loya (D13)**

Maya Eberhart:

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

**Axel Treefall: Sliced into pieces with a Japanese Long Sword by Griffin Holloway (D1)**

**Willa Hellmans:** **Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

**Wednesday Vespers: Fell to her death after letting go of the ladder (suicide)**

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

**Tetra Comn: Head butted and then stabbed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

Persei Baxwoll:

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

**Adia Loya: Skull slammed repeatedly against the cavern wall by Elezar Brewen (D5)**

**Jet Newton: Crushed underneath the falling rock and stalactites during the cave-in (The Capitol)**

* * *

**Elezar Brewen: No one else in the 175****th**** Hunger Games had a personality even close to yours. Confusing and weird, people had chalked you up to being a spiritualist, to being someone who never would want to take a life. But that's all a stereotype, it wasn't even close to the way that you truly were, Elezar. Quoting people is something that you did often, mainly because you were able to convey your thoughts and opinions. Also, you believed that everything happens for a reason, and that everyone has a certain destiny that must be fulfilled. When you met Adia in the cavern, you realized that you were destined to kill her, and that she was destined to kill you; taking a life didn't bother you. Really, you were just a normal Tribute, but with the thoughts and opinions that others would take decades to understand. Just talking about you can be hard, since you're so different from any other character or person that I know of. In the end, you were able to achieve an understanding of everything; that's why you felt that fate wanted you to be in the arena. Fate determined that you'd finally gain it, and though your family is sad, I know you'll have fun in your next great adventure; may you rest in peace. **

**Adia Loya: Out of all the reasons that people have died, there really hadn't been something that I could have told you. Learning to be hungry could have been the only thing you could do to improve; as it had just been the luck of the draw that Elezar decided that fate wanted him to kill you. Depressing, I know, but you really were practically made out of titanium. Losing your ally early on in the Hunger Games, it didn't hinder you, and all emotions were taken out on the sketch pad you had taken into the arena as your token. During the Feast, you managed to convince Jet to create an alliance with you, something that no one else in the 175****th**** had managed to get him to do. Trying to figure him out really did frustrate you, but in the end, you slowly were beginning to realize exactly who he was. While he loved you, I think deep down, you loved him back; you just didn't realize it yet before you died. The main reason that you lost had been the injury you suffered, the infected cut partnered with the broken arm had just been all too much. Otherwise, I believe that you could have won the 175****th**** Hunger Games. Don't beat yourself up though, Adia, as you're a very inspirational and intelligent young lady. Fabian, your parents, and I will miss you, and in the afterlife, you may finally learn who Jet was; may you rest in peace. **

**Jet Newton: I'm going to say this first; you were too much of an obvious choice to win the Hunger Games. Training under the Master, having emotions of steel and a body of ice, all of the odds looked like they were in your favor. And really, if what you wanted was to return to a life with no freedom, then everything had been looking up for you. But that's why you were killed in the cave-in; all you wanted was to be free. Had you won the Hunger Games, the Master would have claimed relation to you, moving into your home in Victors Village. More so, people would expect you to love the guy, and to do things for him; you would have taken one step forward and two steps back. In the end, you realized that you were living as a shell, that you were living fear, and pushing away each person that had attempted to get close to you. That's not a bad thing, in fact, I actually think that it is rather good that it happened; it allowed you to finally become free in the end. Through death, you were able to finally make your own choice, to not have threats and pressures weighing down upon you heavily. Really, you developed a lot of a character, becoming more than the mysterious boy from District Thirteen; you're now Jet, the boy who is finally and truly free. If you're mad at yourself, you really shouldn't be, as everyone who rooted for you would surely understand. Have fun in the afterlife, we're all going to miss you a lot, especially the Master; may you rest in peace. **

**No more sponsoring now! The next chapter will be Persei VS. Leah VS. Maya….Who will win? Stay tuned! Have an awesome time at school (mine starts a week later than everyone else's). Tomorrow I'll be posting the Finale, in which you all can finally find out exactly who the Victor is. The Victory tour will be the last chapter of the 175****th****, and I'll be taking a week off of writing before starting up the 176****th****. Thanks for reviewing! You all rock! **

_Maya Eberhart received a loaf of bread and a javelin. Persei Baxwoll received a large bottle of water. Jet Newton received a medium sized khopesh. _


	43. Victory or Death

_Persei Baxwoll (14), District Eleven Male_

Nibbling on a piece of bread, my crossbow lies idly across my lap. It hadn't been all too long ago that I had heard another cannon; that I had finally known what had happened to Wednesday. Really, that girl had been incredibly creepy, but I didn't mean that she was going to have to die. No, I had meant for her to just climb back down the later, leaving me up here in the flower covered grasses. This place had probably been the safest in the entire arena, even more so that I don't have to worry about the littlest Career breathing down my neck. Miri probably would have found it in a heartbeat, I can't help but think ruefully, but those kinds of thoughts aren't really helpful for my situation. Neither does thinking about who else could be left in this arena, out for my blood; but then again, it wasn't like I didn't think of them the very same way.

_Boom. Boom. _

Grinning, I can't help but relish in the fact that there are only four of us left now. Way better odds for me, especially since I already had become the underdog of the underdogs. No allies had been able to help me along the way, ever since Ether and Ebon had died in the Bloodbath; I can't help but keep on missing those guys. Most of the time, the people that win the Hunger Games are really old, about seventeen or eighteen, and certainly not fourteen or thirteen. That only happens in extremely rare cases, usually with a dysfunctional Career Pack, and an extremely challenging arena, in which the smaller Tributes have the advantage by being able to hide in the best spots. Actually, that pretty much does describe this arena right now, and heck, the Careers were incredibly shabby this time around! Grinning like mad, the next hunk of bread I rip off reminds me of back home, and ironically, this is probably more than I would usually get to eat in a day. Most of the food that we grow has to be shipped to the Capitol, death being the punishment if you defy them; just about each and every one of us is extremely malnourished.

If I actually managed to win this thing, then my parents, Miri, and I wouldn't have to work in the orchards anymore. As delightful as that sounds, it almost feels like a stranger's life, certainly not mine. All I've been doing for as long as I could remember is climbing up those trees, picking the fruits and scampering down when the whistle sounds of. Vaguely, I remember that a girl who died in the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games came up with it, but I can't seem to recall her name. If I had lost, would people forget who I was too? Sickeningly, I can't even recall the names of our Tributes from a couple years ago, just the generic appearance that is practically identical to us all. No doubt, if I didn't come out of here alive, only my family, Tiberius, and Lianna would have any clue who I was. Vile threatened to rise out of my throat like that, especially since the loaf of bread I'd found lying around didn't taste like it had come from the ovens of District Eleven; this was Capitol fare. Whoever had sent this in, for whatever Tribute, wouldn't even remember their name in a year to come.

There's no way in the world that I could have kept eating it, even if I wasn't as full as I would have liked to be. But I'm used to it, after the way they starved us back in District Eleven, so much that a majority of us don't even know what it's like to feel full; we all know too well what it's like to be hungry. People are probably not going to understand why I'm doing this, yet that doesn't matter at all too me; I doubt we'll be in this arena for more than another day. Chucking the bread, it hits a large grouping of white flowers, causing them to tumble and shake. Watching carefully, it's weird that they're still continuing to move, that they haven't gone to a halt yet; the bread hadn't weighed that much, had it? Quickly looking around, just about everything is shaking as well, like we're having some sort of earthquake. Gulping, the large willow trees are jerking around too, appearing as if they're going to fall down and crush me as soon as they possibly could. There really isn't any structure to take cover under, but maybe the Tributes inside of the mines aren't going to be faring very well; maybe they'll all die in the collapsing arena that I'm sure will occur. But my quickening heartbeat let me know that I'll have to find someplace safe before…

_Boom._

Someone else had just died….Good news or bad news? Good news, as I'll only have two other Tributes now to face off, but bad news, as this earthquake is intending to kill from the looks of it. Probably created by the Gamemakers too, meaning that they're taking out the Tributes they don't like, to provide for a more exciting finale then they could have had us done on our own. Only seven days in, one of the shorter Hunger Games, but no doubt a deadly one as well; Miri's probably biting her nails the longer I stay here. She's probably screeching at me to run, especially when one of the willows hits the ground with a sickening thud. Gulping, I found myself scrambling backwards, not quite on my feet, but doing more of an awkward crab walk. It'll be a long fall, I figure, if I try to run to safety during this catastrophe. My hand brushed the coolness of metal, letting me know that if I keep on scooting backwards, I'll be in for a long and frightening death, eerily similar to the one that Wednesday had been dealt earlier. Watching with wide eyes, another one of the willow trees collapses, rolling closer to me from the violent shaking of the ground; if I don't go down the hatch, it's going to kill me.

Anxiously, I look up towards the sky, as if expected to see a white parachute come sailing down towards me. No such luck appears, as prices for items increase the longer the Hunger Games goes on; it must have cost of fortune for the bottle of water someone sent me earlier. A bottle of water that I had downed gratefully, casting it aside into the little piles of supplies someone had hidden under one of the tree trunks. Oddly enough, there'd been an entire pouch full of the whitish purple flowers that grow up here, with gloves kept not all too far away. It felt like a warning signal to me, so I hadn't dared to touch them…I didn't really look forward to dying, so anything that could possibly keep me alive another hour wasn't taken for granted. But I guess the Gamemakers were trying to get their message across, about exactly where they wanted me to go, because the entire grass area burst into flames. Leaping little hot sparks came right at me, causing a scream to escape me, and a couple curses towards the Mockingjays as well in the process.

"Burn to death or go into the collapsing mine…Collapsing mine it is!" I mutter, swinging my legs into the little hole, carefully lowering myself down so I can have a firm grip on the ladder.

With a great boom, sounding eerily like a cannon blast, the last of the willow trees fell tumbling down. Of course, this one couldn't just be coming right at me, but it had to be ablaze as well, the fire stretching outwards angrily. Fire and Mockingjays, two of the things that I hated the most; if the Gamemakers had known that, I bet they would have found some way to combine the two in a horrifying mutation. But right now, I think they're doing pretty good with the fear factor, especially since the burning tree is almost right on me; another brilliant way to die in the arena. My eyes dart around quickly, trying to find some way to stop the fire from leaping onto me after the tree has fallen, and they rest on the metal covering for this route. Though time is running out, it just so happens to be my best chance of survival, even if some first degrees burns may accompany it as the gruesome price for living. Pushing away any and all fear, like Tiberius and Lianna did so often without me, I reached my fumbling hand out and grasped the little handle. Tugging it close to me, this usually didn't take all too long to do, but now that my life has been threatened, each second feels as if it lasts a minute; a minute that I don't have to spare. Eventually, the heavy metal clicks into place, right as the tree slams it down, as if it's trying assist me.

Taking a calming breath, I wrench my fingers from the handle, marveling only slightly about how thoughtful the Gamemakers would have to be to put it on the bottom side, rather than the upper. Placing the fumbling fingers down on the metal, part of me feels astonished when I feel myself begin to slip. Instantly, I make myself grip it tighter, feeling the vibrations increase dramatically, reminding me of the new peril that I've just plunged myself into. And thanks to the burning trees out there, all options of escaping to the outside have vanished; the only thing I can do now is try to climb down without falling. Hopefully they're looking for a big showdown between me and the other two Tributes, whose identities remain a mystery to me; they wouldn't have revealed who they were until the very end of the day. And unfortunately for me, this day has just started to begin; I'd already escaped death once this time as well. Thinking on that, my eyes widen as I realize my fatal mistake, the thing that may very well cause me to lose my life very soon.

My crossbow is still up there. My only weapon is out of my grasp, while the other Tributes probably have enough to supply a young army down there. Blaming the Mockingjay's doesn't help that much either, those dirty traitors, telling all of our words to the Capitol may not have been responsible for that this time. Yet then again, that could be exactly how they wanted me to think; when my back is turned, something horrible is going to happen, I just know it. Feelings of paranoia return to me, the same way they had on my Reaping Day, and I know that I best keep a lookout for any signs of danger. Besides the danger that I've already envisioned, in which I fall off of the ladder, or the secure metal that it's built out of snaps under the pressure; neither of them is a way that I want to know what it feels like. And so, I keep forcing my shaky hands and feet to climb downwards, telling myself all of the funny jokes and stories that Lianna had shared with me, as if he's going to be able to keep me sane. For once in my life, I'm actually right about something; a small smile is gracing my lips when I'm almost halfway down this violent and lurching contraption. I'm almost halfway to making it towards the finale…If I could have been able to stop time forever, now would have been the perfect time to do so, since someone is going to die soon enough, someone innocent.

As soon as my feet hit the shaking ground, I have this horrible gut feeling that it's going to be me…

_Leah Dagger (16), District Two Female-POV_

As soon as I feel the steady ground beneath me feel like jiggling pudding, my eyes snap wide open. All images of the peaceful dream, in which Matt and I were baking cookies together in Victors Village, vanished from my head like dust in the wind. Out of all the jerks back to reality I'd received, the four cannon blasts that had incorporated themselves into my dream had been quite the lovely present. And as my vicious green eyes scanned around the room, the sloshing water of the underground lake confirmed my suspicions; it's time for the finale. In other years, they've used mutations to draw everyone together, but that's not the route they're taking this time. Somewhere in this arena, these perils are going to draw us all together, that way they can have their epic fight to the death.

"_You will not want to decline this invitation lightly. Food will be provided, along with something each of you quite desire…"_

Strapping on my vest full of knives, intricate and beautiful, they reflect the light that the lake is casting astray. Numerous colors, one for each stripe of the iridescent rainbows I'm so familiar with, glimmer off of the walls. Even if the entire room is shaking, with rock chunks falling out of place at a more rapid pace than they had originally, a strange sense of calm has enveloped me. My lips twist into a cruel smile, imagining the panic that the other two Tributes must be feeling at a time like this; they shouldn't worry though, as I'll be putting them out of their misery soon enough. But of course, I won't be doing it in a way that's gentle or quick; no, I intend to give the Capitol the show that they deserve. A show worthy of being noted in the history books, for future generations to love and enjoy, and inspire someone to start training to bring honor to District Two once more. Standing to my feet, the backpack I'd snatched at the Feast draws my attention, knowing that the Gamemakers had promised that we would be wanting to use the supply it contained. Throwing it over my shoulders, I feel ready to attack the day, I feel ready to murder whatever two weaklings are left in the arena; part of me hopes that Jet isn't one of them.

"_I know what you are…," he had murmured, his lips almost grazed my neck, "I know what you intend to do…I know you, Leah. But you don't know me…And you most certainly never will,"_

Eyes narrowed, half of me wanted to give him the most painful death possible, and the other half hoped that I won't have to run into that boy. Something about him drew me in, casting my usual 'my way or the highway' attitude to need to go in for repairs; it bothered me immensely. Whoever killed him, that's if he's dead and I have a feeling that he is, deserves to be commended. But then again, it is possible that one of these falling chunks ended up being the culprit, reminding myself that I don't have all the time in the world to think; I have to get moving or risk losing the Hunger Games to some outlying District. Lowering my head ever so slightly, the auburn hair continues to get into my eyes, though I make sure that it doesn't bother me; all I have to do now if find the safe path, the path to becoming a Victor.

With each step that I take, a little bit more of the falling rubble goes around me, causing a rather loud din and increasing mayhem. To make matters worse, air isn't going into my lungs as easily as it had before; I ignore it, deciding that it's because I'm running directly after waking up. Normally when I'd do this, a splash of cool water would have been effective, and as the lake is behind me, I doubt that the spray is going to be gracing my skin around any time soon. Forcing myself onward, I vaguely take note of a slight pattern in the doors that I'm passing; each of them has a little red dot glowing on their handle. The Gamemakers must have wanted us to escape to their little safe zone, because otherwise, they wouldn't have been showing us the correct path to follow; how thoughtful of them, I mused. Well, it's probably because they know how much of a violent and painful death I'm prepared to deal out, especially since I have at least fourteen knifes strapped onto my body at this very moment. Thinking back to it, I can't help but realize how much better off I am than other Careers had been in past Hunger Games. Most of them ended up with only one of their preferred weapon left on them, which is usually lost in the fray; I doubt that it will be happening to me. That idiot Jackson on the other hand, it would have happened to him no matter how long he tried, and because of it, he's sleeping with the fishes now. District Two deserves a true champion to represent them anyways; District Two deserves to have me win the Hunger Games for them in this Quarter Quell.

Suddenly, my legs give out from beneath me, sending me tumbling towards the ground. Everything's looking hazy, moving erratically and all over the place, as if the arena has been possessed; the finale must be getting closer and closer now. Once again, I gasp in air, but nothing seems to be filling my lungs, in fact, it just succeeds it making it a more and more desperate need for survival. Blinking slightly, I try cupping my hands around my face; it still doesn't help either. It must have been a minute before I tear off the backpack, looking through it with shaking hands before I finally find the prize that I've been looking for; an oxygen mask. Pulling on the black strap, no adjustments need to be made, as it slides onto my head perfectly; as if it had been made for me, and only for me. The delicious flow of oxygen returns, allowing my head to gradually clear, enough to remind me that I need to keep on moving, that I need to keep on pushing myself, with the risk of losing the Hunger Games hanging over my head. Springing up again, the little backpack that used to contain the lifesaving item is left behind, soon being buried in the rubble that the arena is collapsing; I need to move even faster than I had been. Running again, everyone in Panem must have been cheering on one of us at the moment, and from the way I have my back slightly bent, as if it could protect me from the falling objects, I bet that I look like a predator, ready to go and kill the weak prey. Well, if I did, then it wouldn't be all too far from the truth at all; a cruel smile remains on my face at that thought.

"Well, well, well…," I state, slowing down to a walk as the tremors cease, "Looks like the other two happen to be Blondie and Nerdy…How delightful."

Percy, no, Persei stares at me with wide eyes; sadly enough, there isn't a single weapon on the boy at all. Grass stains are all over his clothes, something that I find peculiar enough, and he doesn't offer any explanation, even when I raise my eyebrow at him. Right, I'll be killing him first, as the other one actually has a weapon, which will provide for the fight that I had always imagined winning the Hunger Games with. Besides, Blondie's equipped with a javelin, which most of cost her sponsors a pretty penny or two to acquire; I'll have fun putting her back on the list of the dead where she belongs. How in the world this malnourished thing managed to make it to the final three, I'd probably never find out, but it doesn't matter at all to me; I've got bigger things on my mind right now. The last thing I note is that each of them are wearing the oxygen masks, probably having realized that the Gamemakers had drained that precious substance out of the arena; in school, the brief bit we learned on mines said that oxygen did run low whenever it caved in. Realistically, this is going to be a great finale anyway; I'm going to be the one who is declared victorious at the very end.

"Let's get started then shall we?" I ask, mimicking a Capitol accent, "And this time, we'll be starting with the boys…"

_Maya Eberhart (16), District Six Female-POV_

Persei and I each exchange a silent look, forming a temporary alliance between us. Neither one of us really looks forward towards the idea of being killed by Leah; we just want to be able to go home finally. Honestly, I'd never even thought that I could have gotten this far into the Hunger Games, but I've learned that life is full of surprises; good surprises and bad surprises. So far, I believe that I've had my fair share of each, ever since I'd been Reaped for the Hunger Games and forced into this morbid arena of death. Death that I'd helped to cause as well, death that people are going to hate me for, and probably the only way that they're going to be able to remember me as time goes on. I hope that people learn to hate me, that someone under the rainbow knows that the pain I've been forced to cause isn't all right; the pain I'm causing is as bad as what the Careers are doing.

"Let's get started then shall we?" Leah asked, sounding like an Escort does during the Reaping, "And this time, we'll be starting with the boys…"

His eyes widen even more, reminding me painfully of Cat; they were both fourteen too. Both of them were too young for the Hunger Games, and the vicious red haired killing machine didn't seem bothered by that in the very slightest. I doubted that she would ever know what it would be like to be scared like that, to have someone young that you care about, that you would die for; she's a monster, born and bred. A monster that wants to kill innocent people; there's no way in the world I'm going to let that happen. Right about when her legs are tense looking like she's about to spring, I do the inevitable; I tackle her. Wrapping my legs around her neck, the Career goes to the ground with a crash, sending me tumbling with her, but I don't stop. Vaguely, I'm aware of Persei grabbing my javelin; hopefully he's still aiding me, not trying to kill me and Leah in one clean shot. If he did, I don't think I'd blame him in the very slightest though….Cat, I mean, Persei would want to be able to go home if they, I mean, he received a chance to.

"No thanks, Bubble Brain," I screech, keeping a tight grip on Leah as she rolls us forward, "I think you'd rather pick on someone your own size!"

Clamping my hands on Leah's hair, I pull it as much as I can, actually succeeding in ripping out a bit of the fire colored locks. She screams, jerking me abruptly upwards, shaking the grip that I had one her; I hit the ground with a thud. It literally knocks the wind out of me, causing me to exhale the air right into the mask, where it instantly travels back down into my lungs; I'm vaguely aware of the almost stale taste to it. Glancing around the cavern, Persei's face flashes back into my mind, looking incredibly frightened at something, something that I don't see coming until it's all too late. Plucked fresh from the compact black jacket, a throwing knife is headed my way, and fortunately, I jerk my head out of the way just in time to keep my life. The same thing isn't said for my ear though, as it's chopped off cleanly; I can't help but scream in pain from it. Jumping to my feet, I feel wobbly and off balance, probably just from the sickly sight of fresh blood, a dark crimson color, trailing down the side of my neck. If this had been a dream, I would have woken up right about not, sheen of sweat on me; but this time, I knew that this was all too real.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you…Could you say that again?" Leah asks maliciously, twirling another one of her knives in her hand.

Gritting my teeth, I pluck the throwing knife from the ground. Sure, hand-to-hand combat had always been my thing, but most people say that using a weapon should be an extension of yourself. In this case, all it's going to do is make me even more deadly, and make Leah feel the pain that she's been dealing to others all too carelessly. Keeping my knees bent, shoulder width apart, the soundlessness on one side of me is unnerving; there's so many sounds that I hadn't accounted for before. But then again, if I did manage to take down Leah, and if something happened to Persei, I'm positive that the Capitol doctors will be all too eager to patch me back together again. Victors are almost like ragdolls in the end, in need of the master seamstress. And in my case, I'm in need of vengeance; vengeance for all of the people that the Careers had killed, something that they should have rightfully earned long, long ago.

"Your little brain isn't going to be able to understand," I say coolly, as if I'm completely indifferent to what's going on, "All you've ever learned is how to kill and how to die. I think it's time that you practice the latter, Leah."

Once again, the two of us charged at each other, with Persei being the terrified watcher. Glaring with steely eyes, I ducked under a knife throw, prepared to knock some sense into the murderer with the hardest punch I could. For some reason, Leah threw back her head and started laughing, running towards something that I hadn't even known; my punch hit empty air. Darting forward again, I'm aware that Persei had been in this general area, and I can't help but hope that he had had the sense to run for his life. A cannon booms, in perfect timing with my sinking heart, when I finally lay my eyes on him; that knife hadn't been aimed at me…That knife had hit its target all too well…

Growling, I found my body lunging forward, tackling Leah to the ground once more, but this time I ended up straddling her waist. Plunging the knife into her cheek, I twisted it painfully, listening for her screams. Nothing happened, just a ferocious beast, struggling as much as they were able to under my grip, no matter how many times I tried to keep her stable. Slapping her, the fresh blood smeared onto my hand, right as Leah shot her hips up, sending me flying once more. The rocky cave wall caught my fall, causing all of the breath in me to leave once more, and just like last time, the mask provided me with some more, a gross taste to it; must have been recycled, I noted.

"Did you really think that you'd be able to defeat a Career?" she scolded, walking towards me slowly, like a predator would circle their prey.

Spitting up at her, I smiled innocently, as if I didn't have a clue about what she was talking about. With one of my hands behind my back, it clutched the little knife tightly, thinking hard about what I would have to do. If Leah lunged forward like the pattern for our brawls had been, then it would be all a matter of timing to make the tables turn, to make it so I'd be the one going back to District Six, instead of her returning to District Two. From experience, those walls weren't very cushy, even if they had considerably less rocks covering them than they had before the little earthquake. The Career girl growled, wiping out two more knives, muttering something under her breath about a mat; she must have been going insane, I reckoned. Once in a while, the underdogs have to win anyways, something that I'm hoping that I'll be able to prove soon enough.

"I promised them that I'd give a real good show," Leah said sinisterly, almost pausing in her tracks to look at me, through eyes that didn't have the murderous glint in them anymore, "I _promised_, didn't I? So don't think that any of your idiotic notions of escape is going to work on me. After all, I am a Career, the last surviving one!"

"And the next dead one," I taunt, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Just as I planned, Leah shrieks and jumps forward at me. _1…2…3…Jump! _Moving abruptly out of the way, the Career girl is on a collision course with the wall, right where my back had been moments again. It might have been a full minute before she recovers, but I don't notice, as I'm darting towards where Persei's corpse lays; the Gamemakers won't remove it until one of us is pronounced Victor. Held tightly by his slightly warm hands, though they're considerably colder than my own, is my javelin. Glancing over him for a minute, my stomach begins to feel queasy; that could have been Cat lying right there. Bucking up the courage to grab the weapon is harder than I would have thought it would have been, probably because I didn't want to disturb whatever peace Persei had managed to find in the next life. But at a low curse let out by Leah, I shove those thoughts aside and arm myself; the little knife lies on the floor a couple feet away, having been dropped in favor for something bigger.

"Come on, Dagger, don't tell me you're feeling dazed…," I criticize, trying not to pay attention to the steadily increasing flow of blood out of where my ear had been.

Leah rolls her eyes at me, standing upright with her feet spread apart widely. Hair is tangled beyond imagining, getting into her eyes as she lets out a childlike laugh, growing louder and louder in volume. Yeah, this murderer has just become an official psychopath, and someone who would be paying for the lives of others with her own life. Everyone who had suffered, this would be the one that would be sacrificed for them! Hearing my own words once again, my eyes widened slightly, realizing exactly how I had been sounding…Was I turning into a monster?

_I didn't have to kill. But I did it anyways…_

Closing my eyes briefly, I could hear Leah lurching forward, even if the sound had dramatically reduced from what I had been used to. Everything had changed so quickly, so fast, that it literally had left my head spinning. Would leaving this place be a real victory? Was this the way that one really won the Hunger Games? Is it possible that there's really only one person who loses when playing this game? It felt more and more likely, but then the images of my family wormed back into my head. Both of my parents worked in the factory, not receiving enough money to support me and my siblings; they'd starve if I wasn't there to take out the tesserae. If I won the Hunger Games, it wouldn't be winning for my life; it would be winning for their lives. Strangely, I'm okay with that tradeoff; it's the least that I could do, to keep Cat from starvation, and from entering her own name into the Reaping way too many times again. Opening my eyes, the last Tribute left to take out in the arena stands in front of me, cackling her head off as she clutches a knife; the black vest she had been wearing lies abandoned several feet away. Leah tilts her head to the side, grinning grotesquely as she pushes me over onto the ground.

"Let's not make this quick, shall we?" Leah whispers in my ear, effectively pinning my arm; nothing keeps my feet from moving though.

Swinging my legs, I send Leah toppling, with me on top this time, "I disagree. I think that you've been alive long enough!"

Wrenching the knife out of Leah's hand, I bring it down towards her heart, ready to dig it in with all of my might. She catches my hand though, trembling only slightly in the power struggle, and manages to raise the dagger up slightly; frowning with concentration, I try to calculate a quick way to distract her. Like a gift from above, the idea comes to me, and know that the Capitol is going to enjoy it as well; it's not meant for them though. Bringing down my fist, Leah's nose cracks painfully under it; holding up the knife had prevented her from trying to block it. Repeating that twenty three times, once for each of the dead Tributes, a discolored lump is all that remains of her nose now; chillingly, it reminds me of how Tetra had looked before she died. A strangled cry comes out of her, increasing when I rip the oxygen mask off of her face; oxygen that's being denied to others because of her.

"They had lives too!" I yell, putting more force into driving the knife down towards her heart, "You Careers make me sick! You're not the only one with families! But of course, you wouldn't know that!"

And this time, Leah doesn't fight back against the blade, allowing it to fall down and sink into her flesh. The cannon hasn't sounded yet, so I jerk it out, twisting it first, to cause a suitable amount of pain for the fiery haired Tribute. Each time I bring it down, a name and a face flickers through my mind, all of them being shipped back to various Districts in a wooden box. Distantly, I can hear the cannon fire, signaling that another Tribute in the arena has done, but I've only done this thirteen times. Eleven more people that could have been alive, had it not been for Leah, still needed to be avenged. Eventually, the strength, powered by fury, starts to fade from my arms. My heartbeat, which had been beating louder than a war drum, slows down dramatically as well; everything seems to be getting fuzzy. Taking in a deep breath of air, everything is returned to clarity again, as my mind races through what's going to happen next; I don't even realize that the knife remains in the gory corpse of Leah Dagger.

Suddenly, the voice of Aelius Templesmith booms across the arena, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my extreme honor to present the Victor of the One Hundred and Seventy Fifth Hunger Games! Miss Maya Eberhart of District Six!"

A tired grin breaks out across my face, right as the very top of the arena crumbles to pieces. But oddly enough, none of them fall on me, merely going around, yet avoiding the bodies of Persei and Leah. Blinking to adjust my eyes, it had been a week since I'd seen the sun, a week since I'd seen natural light. Waiting patiently above, the same hovercraft that had taken us into the arena just a week ago lowered down a ladder, intending for me to climb up of it. Quickly looking around, there really isn't anything from here that I wanted to take with me; there wasn't anything about this experience that I would want to remember. Yet that wasn't the way that things would go, as I already knew what I had to do when I stepped onto the bottom rung of the ladder. It practically glue me to it, some sort of electric current that prevent moving, as they whisked me out of the arena.

I wasn't just living for me anymore; I was living for twenty five others who never received a chance to…

* * *

**Cashmere Combe: Skull shattered by a mace, throat stabbed and sliced with a rapier by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Griffin Holloway: Shot with an arrow by Persei Baxwoll (D11)**

**Leah Dagger: Stabbed twenty three times in the heart by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Jackson Leo Ross: Stabbed with a dagger after wrestling with Adia Loya (D13)**

**Malaya Finaca: Tortured and stabbed in the heart with a knife by Wednesday Vespers (D10)**

**Jitz Low: Skull smashed and strangled by Griffin Holloway (D1)-BB**

**Fialla Howards: Electrocuted from a trap created by Reina Vane (D5)**

**Nicolas Riddle: Bleeding profusely from Fialla Howards (D4), suffered severe brain damage from a trap constructed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Reina Vane: Knife flung into heart from a trap created by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Elezar Brewen: Stabbed with a dagger by a dying Adia Loya (D13)**

Maya Eberhart: Victor of the 175th Hunger Games!

**Cassius Lisette: Shot with an arrow, then cut up into several pieces by Tetra Comn (D11)**

**Juniper Griffin: Stabbed with a dagger repeatedly by Willa Hellmans (D8)**

**Axel Treefall: Sliced into pieces with a Japanese Long Sword by Griffin Holloway (D1)**

**Willa Hellmans:** **Pummeled by Axel Treefall (D7), who left her to the Minotaur, which speared her heart with its horn (The Capitol)**

**Abe Mercer: Fell off his platform, his bad knee had given out (The Capitol)-BB**

**Cedar Tremaine: Throat slit with a silver dagger by Tetra Comn (D11)-BB**

**Ebon Furial: Skull cracked, dangled as he bleeds to death by Cashmere Combe (D1)-BB**

**Wednesday Vespers: Fell to her death after letting go of the ladder (suicide)**

**Ether Lessing: Tortured with stiletto knives by Leah Dagger (D2)-BB**

**Tetra Comn: Head butted and then stabbed by Maya Eberhart (D6)**

**Persei Baxwoll: Knife flung into heart by Leah Dagger (D2)**

**Rocky Nightlock: Sword driven completely through upper body by Jackson Leo Ross (D2)**

**Josh Quick: Speared through the stomach by Reina Vane (D5)-BB**

**Adia Loya: Skull slammed repeatedly against the cavern wall by Elezar Brewen (D5)**

**Jet Newton: Crushed underneath the falling rock and stalactites during the cave-in (The Capitol)**

* * *

**Persei Baxwoll: The main reason that you didn't win was because of character development. Mentally, you'd already been paranoid of just about each and everything, keeping you cautious and aware. At the very start of the Hunger Games, you were just a shy kid, missing their friends, and knowing that everyone was out to get them. Though you did mature a bit throughout, nothing emotionally affected you after that; you'd only taken one life, and it was a Career's. There really wasn't anything else that I could do to you, as out of all the Tributes, you probably had the best sanity of them all. But besides that, you were a fun character to write for, especially whenever you mentioned the Mockingjays. All of the little superstitions you had may have been laughable, but you stuck up for what you believed in, part of the reason that you were able to go so far in the Hunger Games. Yet the Victor has to be willing to kill, willing to do whatever it took, and you preferred to give them a choice; you didn't do it to anyone who didn't enjoy killing either. Hanging out on the sidelines, you would have been tortured if it had ended up being just you and Leah. That's part of the reason that you had the quick and accidental death like that. Now, Tiberius, Lianna, Miri, your parents, the Mockingjays and I are all going to miss you; may you rest in peace. **

**Leah Dagger: Sanity, that's pretty much why you didn't win; you totally lost it in the end. Before your little meltdown, I actually expected you to pull a fast one on me and beat Maya, even though I had already picked her as the winner. Confidence, that's your best trait that I had picked up, besides the fierce determination to come home to Matt. Speaking of Matt, I really wish that I could come up with a happy ending for him, but who knows, he may very well surprised us all. Growing up in an abusive home was hard, something that not very many people could have done easily, but you managed to thrive. Training for the Hunger Games, it gave you an emotional outlet to take out all of your frustration on, and a way to protect your brother one day. Volunteering for the Hunger Games, it may not have been the best in the end, but on the bright side, they finally brought justice towards your father. Other kids might have been scared to do it; Leah Dagger you're quite a fearless character, a character that I really enjoyed writing throughout the Hunger Games. Now, as for the Career Pack, I sometimes felt that you were the only true Career in there. The others had quiet personalities, joking and singing, and none of them were really bloodthirsty. But Leah, you were the exception to that, the reason that you managed to get so far in the Hunger Games; you were a force to be reckoned with. Matt is going to miss you dearly, and District Two isn't going to hate you for losing; may you rest in peace.**

…**Now I shall go hide under a rock because I'm sure at least 66% of you didn't want Maya to win. And as for why she won, I actually picked her to be the Victor around the time that Rocky died. The arena is a mine, full of traps thanks to Maya and Reina, which means that Tributes are going to need intellectual strength. Maya's sly, quick witted, and determined; that's why I picked her. It didn't have to do anything with reviews…Now I shall go back to hiding under my rock! I'll come out from it tomorrow to write and post the Victory Tour!**

**Thank you so much! I can't believe that the 175****th**** Hunger Games only has one chapter left to go! …Good thing I've got Sunken Hopes to work on during my brief hiatus!**


	44. Epilogue

_Maya Eberhart (16), District Six Female-POV_

Standing underneath the stage, I can hear the echoing voice of Clark, warming up the crowd before they see me. Ever since I'd woken up in recovery, all of the words had been plain and simple that I'd said; probably since I remained in the arena mindset. And perhaps it was right of me to do so, as with all of their surgical equipment, they easily could have crossed me when my back was turned. Gripping the silver locket, my token in the arena, I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart. A couple seconds passed, though it felt like minutes to me, before I was able to relinquish my steely grip; it had turned into my coping method so far. The only way that I could keep from running away from the flashing lights, locking myself into a small space where no one would be able to find me again; the thoughts of doing so had never been so tempting before.

Rustling my fingers by my new ear, a distracted smile is pulled out of me, marveling out how it operates just like my old ear had. From the hasty explanation the doctors had given, with me glaring at them silently the entire time, it's implanted with bionics. If I found that I wanted to, I could turn the hearing level up and down, touching the fake skin that felt so much like my old ear had; it sounded freaky and strange, probably some sort of setup, so I continued to say nothing. My words would have been lost on them, twisted and turned until it didn't resemble my original thoughts and ideas, and only then would they release them to the public eye. Of course, everyone would be watching my every move from now on; some of the people in my District would be frightened of me for sure. At least they wouldn't be able to see the various scars, as all of them had been removed, with the exception of a tiny one on my ankle; that one I'd brought into the arena, so they didn't intend to remove it.

I moved forward onto the metal plate at the insistence of one of the officials, probably a Gamemaker, I thought with disgust. The dress they had outfitted me in swept the floor, the texture of it more fitting for a fair princess to wear, as it draped down like a fallen leaf. Of course, they depicted the locket as being necessary for me to wear during this, and I didn't mind it at all; here and in the arena, it had kept my family close to me, even if they were really millions of miles away. Drawing the color scheme for the dress from it, various shades of silver and black covered me. At the top of the dress, where the strapless top clung tightly to my body, it was a darker shade of silver, that way it would contrast with the locket. Remaining relatively the same, when it became looser, the color only changed to black six inches above my feet. For some awful reason, six inch heels had been slipped onto my feet; I'd of rather be interviewed in my arena garb, not in the dress with the elaborate up-do. Completing the ensemble with silver earrings, shaped like the locket Cat gave me, no one would be able to tell that I'd been in the Hunger Games off of physical appearance alone; I'd always looked malnourished, even before the arena, so my skinny frame wouldn't put them off in the slightest.

Instead of sinking downwards like it had in the arena, the metal plate rose slowly upwards, leaving me feeling bewildered, yet I didn't let my facial features show it at all. A blank expression greeted the large Capitol audience, who roared and cheered as Clark Hallen shook my hand furiously, in which I only nodded quietly at him. Anything that I said here would and could be used against me, so it didn't make any sense at all to talk unless it would be required of me. But still, they'd be expecting me to answer the interview questions, though I didn't want to in the very slightest. Taking my seat, I didn't let the mask droop one bit as Clark stared forward enthusiastically, ready to launch into one of the most grueling things in my life; I would have rather gone back in the arena right now.

"I must say, I certainly didn't expect to be talking to you right now, Maya!" Clark said lightheartedly, acting like it was such a wonderful thing, even though it wasn't; twenty five people had died and they didn't care at all.

Staring blankly forward, I wondered if he was going to understand my feelings towards him. Briefly, my eyes drift over the audience, in which the honey blond locks of Cassandra, my Escort, stick out like a sore thumb. An air of disappointment is in her face, making it evident that she wants me to talk to him, that she wants me to be civil to someone who congratulates murderers; who cheers on people like me. _Just fake it, Maya, please. _That's the message that comes all too clear from her, which draws an inaudible sigh out of me; she's the only person in the Capitol that I don't mind. Cassandra tried to save children since the last Victor died from a morphling overdose; at that moment, I promise myself that I'll never turn to that drug, for its effects are truly despicable. Biting my lip, minutes must have passed before I utter any words, the first words that I had said since my fit of anger towards Leah in the arena.

"Neither did I…," I reply, letting a small smile tug at the corners of my face.

Clark chuckles at the, along with the audience. From what I've been noting, the most sullen people come off as comedians to them, and it doesn't amuse me in the slightest. Turning my gaze towards Cassandra again, she has her fingers pointed towards the corners of her lips; probably wants me to smile more. Could I smile like I used to? I didn't even know the answer to that question, because I hadn't even tried to yet; no good reason had presented itself. But perhaps still being alive is a good enough one, since I'll be able to return home to my family; a family who doesn't have to starve anymore. A minute later, I found myself beaming out at the crowd, imagining that I'm all alone with my family at last; a sad sort of happiness stirs up within me. It's not a very good feeling, but it doesn't mean that it's a bad feeling either…

"Really though, Maya, I am quite impressed with you. Going from being on the Bloodbath list to becoming the Victor? Remarkable! So tell me, what is the very first thing you're going to do when you get back to District Six?"

My eyes are hovering over Cassandra, as I'm still not all too sure wherever Clark is going to stab me in the back or not. Even before the Hunger Games, I'd never been really good at trusting people, and now, I feel like I'm lacking that quality even more than before. I didn't mind it though, as there's a good reason to not trust people; someone out there wants my blood, I just know it. For someone, there entire future could have been ruined, and I, I am the only person that they are able to blame. Because of that, I can't say that I'm looking forward to the Victory Tour which I'll be forced to embark on in six months; it's going to be pure torture, seeing the faces of the angered loved ones. At least they recognize the sins that the Capitol made me commit, instead of cheering blindly and demanding to hear more about it; the latter still makes me feel downright sick about this place, so much that I never want to return to it.

"Hug my little sister as tight as I can," I say honestly, feeling a pang of longing for the simple and overlooked District.

"Ah, Cat…," Clark states wistfully, drawing me to the conclusion that he had interviewed her, "Looks a lot like you, doesn't she?"

Closing my eyes for a brief moment, the last image that I had of my sister resonated through my head. Teary eyes, already turning red from the immense grief, were the same exact shade of gray as my own. Long blonde hair, it too fell straight, without a single curl or wave in sight; I suppose ours could have been similar in that aspect. Yet there wasn't a single freckle anywhere in sight, nothing to obscure the pale skin that we too shared; that was enough to deny us looking alike in my mind. Besides, Cat appeared innocent and skittish, and I'm sure that especially now, I seem to be anything but that.

"No," I state plainly, opening my eyes to stare out at the crowd again, "She looks more like Marco, my brother, in my opinion."

"Oh, I see…," he murmurs, before returning to his questions.

There's inquiries about my ear, how it works, and if I can still hear as well as I used to. After pointing out that I've been answering his questions the entire time, without asking to have anything repeated, Clark quickly shuts up about that. For the most part, things just fly past me, as if I'm not really the one being interviewed; in my mind, I'm at home watching someone else who left the Hunger Games. But eventually, I found myself being forced to snap back to reality, right after reliving one of my fonder memories. A memory of Cassius, the laid back boy who tried to comfort me, and the one time that I finally let him; it had been hard enough taking his death calmly without allying with him. Allies didn't make any sense to me, but it's been recognized as a good strategy, as long as you could trust the person to not kill you in your sleep; I didn't trust people that way. No one in their right mind would trust someone who was out to kill him; hopefully whoever I'd have to Mentor would understand that simple fact.

"When you realized that Leah had killed Persei, how did you feel?" Clark pressed, repeating the question again, even though he knew that I heard him perfectly.

The smile I'd be wearing for Cat and Cassandra vanished quickly, replaced by a scowl, "How did I feel? For as long as they'd existed, the Careers are determined to bring pain and terror to the Tributes, no, the children from the other Districts. I've always hated them for it, and when they had the nerve to kill Persei right in front of me, that had been Leah's fatal mistake. When I killed Leah, I didn't kill her for me…I killed her for each and every person that the Careers had harmed, even if they didn't even realize it."

Clark's blue eyes widen, pressing his bleached eyebrows up towards the ceiling; it had been the firmest response that I'd given him yet, "Well Maya, we have a little clip that we'd prepared for you. After it's finished, I'm sure everyone is going to want an autograph or two, and then we'll be sending you back home to District Six! Sounds good, right?"

Feeling exasperated, I forced the reply to come out of my mouth, "Sounds good…"

A screen lowers down behind us, in the exact right spot that neither Clark nor I have to angle our bodies to get a good look at it. How convenient, I thought dryly as I examined it, bracing myself for the horrors that are going to come. For a moment, it remains pitch black, until 'THE 175TH HUNGER GAMES' appears in glittering silver letters. As with each and every Quarter Quell, they don't actually start with the Hunger Games, but rather with the announcement; they'll move on to forcing me to see the deaths all over again in a moment. If I could, this would be the moment where I'd make Cat cover her eyes, as to try and preserve her innocence for another year; hopefully Marco is doing that right now, as I'm sure Mom and Dad are watching this on the screen in the factories, busy working to keep them from starving another day.

President Gremlin stood on a stage, poised as he looked around. The Capitol citizens watched eager with anticipation for him to announce the Quarter Quell, a sickening idea that haunted the minds of each child eligible for one, with the exception of the monstrous Careers. They probably broke out into cheers, just like the Capitol audience had done.

"The Seventh Quarter Quell…," President Gremlin paused, smiling cruelly at his captive audience, "And to remind the rebels, that no matter how hard they fought and ran, they cannot find shelter even in the most remote places…it will be located in the ruins of old District Thirteen!"

Letting the cheers and hollers of the outrageous citizens fade into the background, they peculiarly showed a brief footage of each of the Reapings. Not the part where they read off the speech, but where each person shook hands, having their names announced for each District; it reminded me painfully of the Bloodbath list, especially after seeing little Ebon grin up at the petrified Cedar. Upon closer inspection of the tape, a little white box showed the live filming of me, that way everyone across the country could get my reaction; currently, I was grimacing as if in pain, but I didn't bother to change the expression in the very slightest. Next, the Chariot Rides appeared, with my cool and collected gaze staring off into the Capitol audience; Cassius grinned and wave, causing roses to be thrown at him. He must have liked it too, I reflected, remembering what a flirt that boy was, or rather, had been.

"_They're almost never right on the Bloodbath list. You'll be fine…," _Cassius had said, pulling me into a comforting hug. Even if he had been a bit of a slacker, I couldn't help but miss him right now, wishing that he could have been here as well. Though it was probably because we shared that experience, that each of us had been forced into the mines, and that he was from District Six, logic didn't seem to factor through my mind. Wistful thinking wasn't going to get me anywhere though, so I raised my eyes back up to the screen, bracing myself for whatever would be coming next. That's all that I could do in this situation, watch and hope that I won't fall apart; Victors in years before me had done just that at this part of the post-Hunger Games festivities. Briefly, I can't help but remember how right Cassius had been; I was fine in the end, meaning that I should have been the one comforting him…

Evidently, the filmmakers didn't see any importance in showing the interviews, as the shot of all of us in our finery went by in a flash. If someone had blinked, they really would have missed it at that point; I almost wished that I had. Of course, they couldn't have ended the film right there, as they had to come across for an angle to give me; an angle that I hadn't been able to identify yet, just the remorse that I felt watching everyone, knowing that they're all going to be shipped back to various Districts soon enough. Gulping down vile that threatened to rise in my throat from the next clip, I try to remain unnerved as I watch the death of Ether Lessing, being tortured in several places by that awful Leah Dagger; according to the little white box, all I look is wary, as if Leah is going to jump out at me with those knives, the same way she had been doing in my nightmares. Quickly enough though, the image is replaced with Cedar's terrified expression as Tetra threw a knife into her throat, ending her life all too soon; it doesn't lessen the grief of killing Tetra that much. Jackson replaces Cedar, nearly killing the little girl from District Ten, but ends up being severely wounded; I find myself smiling slightly at the idea that a twelve year old could beat a trained Career. Of course, they don't remain on Wednesday for long, switching over to the brutal murder of Jitz, which brings out a scowl on my face and all of my hatred towards the Careers to the front of my mind. Cashmere is shown next, cracking the skull and dangling Ebon, a painful and unusual way to kill someone so innocent; he too reminds me of Cat a bit, just like Persei had done. Hoisting a spear, Reina shoves it through Josh, who manages to knock her out as his last act; I hadn't even known that she killed as well. It shifts away from the Bloodbath, and I can't help but realize how they neglected to show the way that Abe had died; the way that they had killed him before the Hunger Games had even begun.

I'm shown next, setting up traps with an eerie smile on my face the entire time, and I can't help but feel numb after seeing it. Those traps had killed people, and just like the Careers, it appeared that I immensely enjoyed it; once again, regret fills me quickly. Of course, the cameras don't have the sense to show something completely unrelated, no what they show is horrible. Leah, who I like less and less as time goes on, tosses the healable body of Nicolas Riddle through a door…A door with one of my traps on it; I didn't even know that I'd taken his life as well. Thankfully, the next couple scenes that are shown is of the District Seven team, along with the girl from District Eight, running from something. Upon realizing that it had been a Minotaur, I can't help but be thankful that I never met that mutation; because I'm startled easily, it would have taken me out for sure. They skip over Willa's death, not even showing her again, so it's impossible for me to know if she ever gave birth to her babies or not; from a odd look in Clark's eyes, I'm guessing that she did. The next couple of deaths flicker by, yet I still feel the same amount of pain that I had before; if I had died, one of the might have been able to be alive right now, and they'd probably be feeling the same exact way.

So many more Tributes are shown, but as the clip had been running for a while, they don't get much coverage; I still watch with horror as Fialla is electrocuted, knowing that I could have been the one to walk into that trap just as easily…During the feast, they show me grappling with Tetra, taking her out with fury in my eyes; I didn't feel bad about it anymore, as I'd learned of the gruesome matter that she had taken Cassius' life earlier. He could have been the one to make it out alive, had it not been for the demented Tribute from District Eleven, yet I couldn't find it in myself to blame the dead anymore; it felt all too unjust. By the time that they get up to the finale, hollowness is all that I felt; there'd been so much pain that I didn't even know about, pain that I wished could have never happened.

"Do you really think you're going to be able to defeat a Career?" I watch Leah ask boldly, noting how wild and feral she looks.

I spat up at her, causing the audience to erupt into sick and twisted laughter; it hadn't been meant to be funny. Cringing slightly, I can't help but watch as Leah comes forward again, having already taken the life of someone who could have been here, having already murdered Persei; it must have been the only thing that Leah had been taught to do, since the very day that she had been born back in her District.

"I am a Career, the last surviving one!" Leah adds, glaring spitefully down at me; I note how they edited out the part about giving them a good show. They already didn't care for her anymore, just like they had thrown away Cashmere and Griffin when they were done with them. Truly, the people in the Capitol were born without emotion, only being able to fake it as to not be labeled as unusual or cruel; they detested being identified for what they really are.

"And the next dead one," I watch myself say, grinning widely as if it had been the best day in my life; I shift uncomfortably in my seat, only now aware of how twisted I had sounded.

Shutting my eyes, I only listen to the coverage of the final fight between Leah and I. It had been a long one, painfully so, in which I believe that each of us lost a little bit more of our humanity. That was something that I'd be sure to try and get back, as soon as I possibly could, unless I wanted to end up like some of the Career Victors, who still trained as if they would be plunged back into the arena at any moment. _You Careers make me sick! _Cringing slightly, I know what they're showing on the screen right now, and I don't have any temptations to open my eyes to look. What they're going to be showing is awful; they're showing the death of Leah, a stab with the knife for each Tribute that couldn't have been alive at that time. Then, it had made sense to do so, yet now, I couldn't help but feel horrible for doing it; all I had done was prove that I was no better than the Careers had been.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my extreme honor to present the Victor of the One Hundred and Seventy Fifth Hunger Games! Miss Maya Eberhart of District Six!"

Opening my eyes, the smile that I plastered on my face had been all too fake. Everything went by in a blur, from Clark congratulating me one more time, and the rush of Capitol people coming forward with paper and pen. It must have been hours until they finally allowed me to board the train back home, to finally escape with an aching hand from the millions of autographs. Just about each person there had demanded to take a picture with me, a tell tale sign that even in District Six I'll be denied my privacy; my family as well, I believe. Vaguely, I'm aware of boarding the train to go home, with a pat on the back from my Escort, yet I still don't choose to pay attention. All I want to do is see my family again…

* * *

Four months had passed since I left the Hunger Games, but I don't think that the experiences have left me yet. In the middle of the night, I'll wake up in a cold sweat, convinced that Leah's standing above me with her daggers. No one else in Victors Village understands what I'm going through, as my family and Mr. Lisette are the only people that live in my house; there isn't any tips on how to cope, besides using the horrible yet addictive drug. Instead, I've become an expert at leaping out of the window soundlessly, running through the various parts of District as far as I can. Sometimes, if I'm in a real state, I'll actually make it far enough that I have to go to the underground, the train service in District Six in order to make it back home; our District isn't one of the tiny ones. Despite having done this often, a sense of panic develops each time the concrete surrounds me, and from what I've guessed, my time in the arena has turned me claustrophobic. The people who run it always give me sympathetic looks, but the section of the train that I choose always happens to vacate as soon as I enter; no one in District Six, besides my family and Mr. Lisette, enjoys my company anymore, shaking in their boots each time that I look their way.

The only time that I really get interaction outside of my home has been the school. Every now and then, I tend to drop in to crack open the history book with the rest of the class, but even they don't welcome me with open arms. I'm enrolled still at the high school, yet a funny feeling tells me that I'd be better off home schooled, or even dropping out completely; as a Victor, I'm set for life. Blood money though, I have to remind myself each time my thoughts turn that way, money that shouldn't be used for idiotic and frivolous things, as people had to die for it. My sister didn't quite see it the same way as me, claiming that we shouldn't conserve it for that very reason; in the end, we bought her a Capitol style dress for the next ceremony that she'd have to attend. And if my mind is clear, which it often wasn't, that would end up being the Reaping; she'd only be fifteen, with the cumulative tesserae slips still in there, even if she didn't need it anymore.

It just so happened that this was one of those nights, the nights where the visions and memories couldn't be kept at bay. Making sure not to disturb a single member of my family, in which Mr. Lisette had become a grandfather figure to my siblings and me, I pulled on the dark black hooded jacket quietly. Pajama bottoms would be all right for running I decided, though that didn't prevent me from leaving my knife behind; ever since returning to District Six, there wasn't a single place that I went without it, from the terrifying fear of being attacked. Opening up the window, the white latch is silent, mainly because I'd oiled it on several occasions, with this very purpose in mind. I swung my legs over, placing them delicately on the large oak tree, its branches conveniently placed for a quick exit, and climbed out from the house. After a quick glance behind me, no one had discovered my absence, and none of the District kids had yet summoned up the nerve to steal from me, so I didn't bother to close the window shut. Scurrying down the tree, the dim shadow registered in my mind before I could stop myself, landing me face to face with a stranger. Eyes widening, my hand flew to the knife, right as he stepped forward out of the shadow.

"Get away from me!" I hissed, trembling only slightly out of terror; how ironic the Capitol would have found this sight to be.

The stranger had dark hair, cut so short that I almost couldn't make out the color of it in the poor lighting; really, it could have been blonde and I wouldn't have noticed. Cold blue eyes, filled with such venom and yet peace at the same time, examined each and every inch of me. Everyone knew who I was now, the paranoid blonde Victor who runs around in a dark jacket and polka dot pajama pants; this stranger knew as well evidently. Noting the large frame, covered in a jumper and leather jacket, I couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of Peacekeeper. If that was the case, then my hammering heart had worked up for nothing; just about each Capitol official here had gotten my autograph the very day that I had returned. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I still didn't lessen my grip on the knife; there was no way that I would put my guard down around this stranger.

"Maya Eberhart…," he said softly, "You were the one to live, while he had been the one to perish…A perplexing yet common truth."

Frowning, I spoke without thought, one of the traits that I had managed to regain around a month after the Hunger Games, "So I've been told. Now, mind telling me exactly who you are?"

Instead of obliging me, his eyes travel down towards where my knife is concealed. Furrowing my eyebrows, the odds that he knows where it was were very slim, yet something told me not to put it past him. An aura of havoc and control, power and might, and something surreal surrounded this man; unlike others, his eyes were soulless, with no emotion other than fury displayed in them. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, prompting it to vanish as quickly as it had come, almost robotic like. Taking a slight step backwards, the sense of paranoia I so often feel continued to build and build the longer that I remained in his presence. Reaching his hand into the pocket of his coat, I bit the inside of my cheek, preparing to be launched into a combat situation, when he instead pulled out a worn piece of paper.

"This had been his, Maya. It rightfully belongs to you, the one who bested them all…," the stranger utters, completely ignoring my question as he extends his hand, holding the paper out for me.

For some reason, I find myself taking it from him. Bending my gaze downwards for a moment, I make out old and faded handwriting. _My dearest Jet… _My eyes flicker upwards, wondering if this is some cruel and sick joke orchestrated by the Capitol, but I'm met with nothingness. As quickly as he had come, the stranger had vanished, with no explanation of who he was at all. Biting the inside of my cheek more, a copper taste, probably blood, flooded my mouth; for once, I didn't mind it at all. Folding the letter back up, I shoved it inside of my black jacket; there wasn't any reason for me to wish to relive the memories right now. Hopefully, this would all be a cruel dream, one of the frightening nightmare sequences where you wake up from one and find yourself in another; being in the Hunger Games, that hadn't come off as something unusual to me anymore…

* * *

Things mostly stayed the same, with the exception that I couldn't run out of the window while on the train ride. Just like all the other Victors, they forced me onto a "grand" tour, taking place six months after the Hunger Games was over; six months until the mourning families had their strength tested. Starting with District Twelve, I'd work my way down the list, skipping District Six, and saving that one for the finale; cruelly, the Capitol had joked 'save the best for last' on countless occasions. Before, this would have been something that a glimmer of excitement would accompany, yet not anymore. At least twenty five people are going to be glaring at me today, wishing that I was dead, and as much as I was glad they felt that way, it wasn't going to be my favorite thing to experience. While Cassandra assured me countless times that Victors typically enjoyed this, that Gettys, the Victor before me, had felt the same way, a knot of dread had worked its way into my stomach. Somehow, the thought of being interviewed in front of the Capitol is preferable to this; probably because they love you no matter what you do there, while in the Districts, you're guaranteed to have a large portion of haters.

District Thirteen sent shivers down my spine, as tools for mining covered various surfaces; it reminded me too much of the arena. Because the Capitol forced them to, the people there provided sidewalk chalk, to decorate the ground with; I heard one of them mumbling about how much Adia would have enjoyed it. Once most of the chalk had been used up, everything shone with more vivid color than it had before, but the worst part was yet to come. Standing on the stage, families of the deceased Tributes stood next to me, in their allotted selections. My rehearsed speech, the one that Cassandra had written for me, felt lifeless and dull; I wasn't really good with words. Oddly enough, no one in District Thirteen stood to represent Jet, while a family of three mourned over Adia. Adia's mother wept onto her son's shoulder; her father stared at me with a look of disgust.

District Twelve was a quaint little District, encompassed by firm trees all around. Coal dust settled on just about everything, which I probably should have expected, along with the hopelessness that radiated from the place. They'd held a tiny little feast for me, probably more food than they would see in a weak, and I felt guilty the entire time; I told Mayor Wolfsbane to give my serving to someone who needed it upon being sat down. Afterwards, they brought me up onto the stage, the same stage that Rocky and Josh had been Reaped on, and I quietly read a prepared speech. While I hadn't been connected to either of them, an older girl from Rocky's family glared up at me with an air of hatred. A couple, probably Rocky's parents, was weeping openly as they clung to each other; no one was there to represent Josh.

District Eleven must have been the most beautiful place that I had ever laid eyes on. Blooming trees covered each and every part of it, the richest fruits that I had ever seen just waiting to be plucked. Surprisingly, the people here were extremely malnourished; I would have thought the agriculture District would be well fed. For their festivities, the people lead me out into a brilliant meadow, covered in flowers of each and every color imaginable. Traditional songs were sung, the words happy and bright, yet the voices sounded dull and lifeless; I didn't blame them. Instead of leading me to the stage, they had me read my speech right there, among flowers I hadn't even known existed. Stumbling through it, a small tear fell down my face; Persei's family appeared to be wonderful people. All of them were deeply grieving, clutching each other's hands tightly for support, yet they held their heads high; I don't know if I would have been able to do that if I were them. Once again, no one arrived to represent Tetra, the girl that I had killed; for some reason, the District didn't look angry at me, just sad that Persei hadn't been the one to win.

Impulsively, I added on to my usual speech, "Persei was a wonderful person…Full of life and happy, not to mention innocent…," my voice dimmed slightly in volume, thinking back to the dead boy, "he should have been the one standing before you…"

District Ten was extremely hot, leaving me to be thankful that my stylist had outfitted me in a short white sleeveless dress for this one. Various people wore cowboy hats, partnered with mud splattered boots and overalls, all things that I had thought were merely stereotypical for this District. Just like District Twelve did, they hosted a small feast for me, which mainly consisted of barbeque; probably the food that most of them ate, as their forms were strong and lean. Unlike the earlier Districts, they managed to contain their sadness better, even telling lame jokes to try and brighten the mood; it must have been my favorite so far. Afterwards, when I told my prepared speech, I almost felt shocked that Ether and Wednesday each had someone here to represent them; it hadn't been that way in the previous Districts. On Wednesday's side, two adults held their heads high, with only slight signs of remorse upon them; they were hardened souls. A kind looking girl wept silently, her features looking slightly familiar, and a young boy gazed on all of them with disgust, maybe even utter and complete hatred. On the flipside, a frail woman sat in a wheelchair, wearing a hospital gown as two little girls clung tightly to her; they didn't make any attempts to quiet their tears. The last person I looked at must have been Ether's father; he appeared to be tired if anything.

District Nine's heat had been apparent as well, making me grateful when they took me inside of the justice building for the celebration. People were dressed plainly here as well, similar to District Ten in fact, though they didn't force themselves to smile at all. Being the grain District, they presented me with a bag full of just that, with a little speech given by their Head Peacemaker, who evidently had come from District Two from his cheery attitude; afterwards, I'd given their gift back to the Mayor, saying the same thing I had to Mayor Wolfsbane earlier. I didn't need any more blood money; the Capitol had already seen to it that I had plenty. Representing Ebon, a little boy sat on the stage, dressed in frumpy and oversized clothes; they looked like they had been donated to him. Playing with a toy dinosaur, I hadn't been all too sure that he understood what was going on, while another boy, I think Cedar's brother, knew all too well. A couple of girls sobbed in the midst of the crowd, making me think that they must have been her friends; I was glad to leave this District.

District Eight was covered in smog, thick and heavy, from the fumes that their factories continued to churn out each minute. The festivities weren't original here, with yet another feast that I had to attend, and another round of guilt filling me up inside. Starving people were everywhere, people that deserved this food more than I did; for some reason, the Mayor wouldn't give my food to someone else this time. I suppose this meant that the Peacekeepers were prominent here, like in District Eleven, or that she had been a rule stickler. Pushing those thoughts out of my mind, I couldn't help but note that no one here glared at me, making it one of the more tolerable Districts on the tour; if it hadn't been for the stony silence from Willa's well dressed parents, it might have even been on my favorites lists. When I was about halfway through my speech, a brainy looking girl met her eyes with mine, and while I don't think she blamed me, that family member of Abe's hadn't been all too happy to see me here either.

District Seven could have only been described as picturesque. Not too far from the Justice Building must have been a river, as I could clearly hear the rushing water from it, sounding so serene; I would have liked to live here if I could. Evergreen and pine trees cover each surface, bringing no doubt in my mind that this was the lumber District; all of the people were fit as well, probably from learning how to use an axe at an incredibly young age. For the festivities here, some of the District kids performed capoeira, a type of dancing; I had a suspicion it taught the children how to fight as well. It's almost shocking how much I've come to detest the speech that I have to utter, especially knowing that the hardest District I'll have to face is coming up next. No one is there to represent Axel, though four people are standing in the section for Juniper. A petite girl is being held close by a strong man, doing her best to hold in the tears; she looks like Juniper's sister. While the father manages to hold in almost all signs of remorse, the mother has to wipe her eyes frequently, sniffling once or twice. Despite the beautiful scenery, sadness radiates off of a majority of them; Juniper may have been well liked here, or perhaps it had been for Axel.

District Five turns out to be my least favorite District, as glares follow me everywhere that I go. Elezar and Reina must have mattered a lot to them, I decide, especially since a large family eyes me angrily; they all wished that I would drop dead right now. These immense feelings of hatred are unsettling, making me yearn for the knife that I'd been forced to leave on the train; anyone of these people could be planning my demise right now. As of such, I don't eat any of the food that had been offered to me, out of guilt and a large suspicion that it had been poisoned by one of them. Rushing through the prepared speech, I have to tag on a little thing at the end about Reina, considering that I had been the one to take her life. A drunken man is the only one there to represent Reina, screaming out slurred accusations just about each minute; Peacekeepers end up restraining him. Lastly, the large family is there for Elezar, with all but one glaring at me; a tiny girl with dirty blonde hair stares at the ground, not able to produce anymore tears.

District Four is one of the prettier Districts, with a beautiful ocean enveloping most of it. Sandy beaches, boats, and swim docks are everywhere, accompanied with the stench of ozone and rotting fish; curiously enough, the combination actually smells good together. The celebration must have been the grandest one that I attended, as they took out to the beach, it must have been the best one since the citizens had looks of glee, and had a party. Food was served their, along with something on a stick that they called ice cream, and I only allowed myself to partake in the latter; people here didn't seem as poorly fed as other Districts. A smile tugs at my lips, when the younger citizens from Four squeal as the waves chase them up and down the sand; it seems like a pretty happy place. Of course, the entire time I felt pairs of eyes staring into my back, and upon inspection, it's a red headed girl. For a moment, panic seizes me, fearing that it's Leah, but I realize that this girl has blue eyes. Latter, I realize that she had been related to Nicolas, the boy that had been killed in my trap; if she goes into the Hunger Games, I hope my District's Tributes steer clear of her. Yet on the other hand, Fialla's family considerably lacks the cutthroat attitude, all of them staring sadly at me during the speech reading; it's a very awkward feeling.

District Three is covered in factories, just like District Five had been earlier, yet the smog here isn't nearly as heavy. However, the celebration isn't nearly as grand as it had been in the previous District, and the whole feasting idea is starting to get incredibly repetitive. Only because my stomach is grumbling painfully do I actually eat, sampling the oddly shaped rolls, and marveling slightly at how the taste differs from what I'm used to. From what I remember Cassandra telling me, this is because the grain in each of the Districts isn't the same, but I'm not too sure if I could trust her facts to be up to date. Upon thinking that, I feel horrible, but I'm not given time to dwell on it as they usher me onto the stage. Neither of these Tributes had been really connected to me, unless you count my proclaimed hatred of the Careers, but I can see a large portion of the citizens glaring forward at me. It takes me a moment to realize that they don't hate me; they hate that two of their own isn't coming home. Uttering the prepared speech once more, a peppy looking lady stands in Jitz's section and her baby bump is pretty evident. Gulping down the strangled cry of alert, I have to tell myself mentally that Willa is dead, that's not her, and that she can't hurt me before I can finish reading it. Sad looking, a man that might have been Jitz's father wraps his arm around the lady's shoulder. Turning my attention towards Malaya's family, three of them are completely blank looking, as if they didn't have a single care in the world towards their dead daughter. Frowning ever so slightly, I can tell that I'm not the only one frustrated with them; an older couple, along with Yohan Finaca, a Victor, are glancing distastefully towards the three every now and then.

District Two is very military like in appearance, especially when it came to their Tributes, so I was mildly taken aback when I saw their celebration. According to a Peacekeeper, they were having a disco themed party for me; that must have been why they were wearing such odd clothing to this. None of them particularly liked me, with Cassandra staying by my side most of the time, and a couple of Peacekeeper bodyguards; I felt thankful for their presence. A little boy, with a floppy hair cut and crumpled clothes, had been stalking me the entire time; I had a feeling that he had been there for Leah. But to make matters worse, a spiky haired girl had been putting him up to it, making sure that no matter wherever I went, the creepy kid would be following him. Part of me wondered if they were related, but as she had the same facial structure as Jackson, part of me thought that she had been his sister. Flickering back through the painful memories, I note that she had been the one Reaped; she hadn't been all too happy about not getting to compete afterwards. Resulting to dropping the fake grin, I didn't listen to Cassandra as she scolded me for it; all I wanted to do was get out of there.

District One, the luxury District; I couldn't but feel mildly relieved upon arriving here. People clapped and cheered politely upon my arrival, even though the looks in their eyes screamed bloody murder. Nothing very exciting had been selected for the festivities, just another part held in the square, with a live performance by one of the local bands; the words cashmere and griffin were used several times in their songs. It must have been a couple hours before the party finally wrapped up, with the grim prospect of delivering a speech to these people left as the only thing on my to-do list. If I had had it bad back in District Two, it was nothing compared to the way that they treated me in District One; probably because I had called their Tributes monsters on live television. Another example of why Cassandra had been the one to write my speeches, instead of myself; I might have sparked rebellion and not realize it until the President was executed. From Cashmere's family, five pretty girls look at me coldly, sad and infuriated that their sister hadn't been the one to return; I bit the inside of my cheek, causing the thin scab to break open, and the blood to slowly rush into my mouth again. Avoiding the vacant gazes of the parents, I turned my attention to the dolled up little girl and weary man from Griffin's family. Giggling and twirling, like the boy in District Nine hadn't understood earlier, I too doubted that she had any idea what had happened to Griffin either.

Eventually, they finally took me back to District Six. Upon arriving, my face broke out into a wide grin, seeing what they had prepared for our own celebration. Sometimes, whenever we had junk cars that the Capitol didn't want any more, and that we beyond repair, the Peacekeepers would turn them over to us. Pulling out the most capable drivers in the District, we'd hold an old fashioned drag race, with cotton candy available for purchase; my family had never been able to afford any of it before. After delivering my speech, which I changed up slightly for my District, they told me that I'd get to be driving one of the cars today; something that I'd always wanted to do since a little girl. Standing up on the stage, feelings of guilt didn't plague me that much, since I had already talked with Mr. Lisette. While he missed Cassius, he told me that as an old man he'd suffered through much, and that I shouldn't blame myself for being the one to come home alive. A bond had formed between the two of us because of that.

Wrapping up my speech, I looked down at the smiling faces, some of which were terrified of me still, but I think it wasn't as much as before, "I just wanted to say thank you…All of you mean a lot to me, as we're all from District Six, we're all connected…Next year, I'll do my hardest to bring one of you home again! I promise!"

At the applause from the audience, a small grin plastered itself on my face. Maybe one day, the nightmares would go away, but for now, the feelings of happiness I'd picked up from everyone else were doing the job. But that doesn't mean that I won't forget all of them, I promised myself that I wouldn't forget. If I did, then not only would they start to slip away completely from existence, but I'd be no better than them.

I had to be better than the Capitol, the true monsters in this world.

* * *

**THE END!**

**Oh man, I can't believe that I'm actually flipping this story over to complete today! I want to thank each and every one of you who reviewed, followed, favorite, or even looked at this story; it really means a lot to me! I get such a feeling of joy each time I get a review about this story, especially when you guys tell me how much you like it! Even though it got taken down, according to my math, we would have been over the 400 reviews mark! I never expected to get that many; I'm thrilled! Below, I'm going to put the final placing of the Tributes, along with the names of people who helped a lot (you know who you are). Once again, a big thank you to all of my friends who created a Tribute for me! Without you, this story couldn't be what it was today! Also, keep an eye out for Sunken Hopes! It'll be up in a week, with the Reapings for each District guaranteed! I really hope you liked this ending, since I know that I certainly did, and I'll miss my star-crossed-musical-rebels (my nickname for the 175****th**** Tributes). **

**1. Maya Eberhart, District Six**

**2. Leah Dagger, District Two**

**3. Persei Baxwoll, District Eleven**

**4. Jet Newton, District Thirteen**

**5. Adia Loya, District Thirteen**

**6. Elezar Brewen, District Five**

**7. Wednesday Vespers, District Ten**

**8. Jackson Leo Ross, District Two**

**9. Malaya Finaca, District Three**

**10. Griffin Holloway, District One**

**11. Tetra Comn, District Eleven**

**12. Axel Treefall, District Seven**

**13. Reina Vane, District Five**

**14. Juniper Griffin, District Seven**

**15. Willa Hellmans, District Eight**

**16. Fialla Howards, District Four**

**17. Cashmere Combe, District One**

**18. Nicolas Riddle, District Four**

**19. Cassius Lisette, District Six**

**20. Rocky Nightlock, District Twelve**

**21. Ether Lessing, District Ten**

**22. Ebon Furial, District Nine**

**23. Josh Quick, District Twelve**

**24. Jitz Low, District Three**

**25. Cedar Tremaine, District Nine**

**26. Abe Mercer, District Eight**


End file.
